


We Must Be Killers

by NixVicious



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU pairings, Ambiguous sexuality, Angst, BAMF!Stiles, Bi-sexual Stiles (obviously), Broken Friendships, Confusion, Extremely slow build, F/M, Humor, Hunters, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Minor Violence, Multi, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Post Season 2, Separation, Stiles isn't a pushover, some serious mind-fuckery (u have been warned)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-15 15:23:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NixVicious/pseuds/NixVicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has had enough. They've complicated his life for too long. He's done. He's so fucking done. But something dark and powerful has made its way to Beacon Hills and it will take everything he has to save himself, the ones he loves and the ones he's given up. Sometimes in order to find the light in the darkness you must become the killer....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lines and Balance

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my very first Teen Wolf fanfic and yes it had to be Sterek because I’m most familiar with their dynamic and their personalities. Scisaac is next on my list and then Stisaac because if you can’t tell by now, slash holds a very special place in my life.
> 
> If there are any similarities to "Blood Moon by WritingintheCandlelight" they are absolutely unintentional and completely coincidental. A friend pointed out the similarities between BM’s Stiles and my Stiles but I hadn’t read that fic as yet when I started writing this first chapter. I was simply working with the idea of Stiles being fed up and putting his foot down. What that means...you’ll just have to read to find out. Hope you enjoy :)

 

_***_

_I woke up_

_I was stuck in a dream_

_You were there_

_You were tearing up everything_

_***_

**  
**

Stiles hears the sirens. Sees the flashing lights racing down the street. He knows where they’re headed. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t do anything, except heave out a heavy sigh and flop carelessly onto his bed. The ceiling is very intriguing tonight and he wonders if he ever finished counting all the cracks in the lines of the protective wooden shield over his head. He doesn’t wonder for too long though as he starts counting again from the furthest corner of the ceiling.

It’s been thirty minutes, maybe fifty? He doesn’t really know. It’s not like he’s been counting down the minutes until he hears the tapping against his bedroom window, which he started shutting and locking as opposed to leaving it open like he used to. Another sigh escapes and Stiles just isn’t in the mood to deal with this tonight. He doesn’t even glance over to see who it is this time. Boyd, Erica, Scott, he doesn’t really care. He stopped caring a long time ago. A man could only take so much before refusing to anymore. And Stiles refused.

The tapping persists again, only slightly louder than the first time.

Stiles rolls over onto his side, facing away from the window, showing his back to whoever would not be getting into his room tonight. He’s tired of it and quite frankly if they want to bring their supernatural shit into his town of their own free will then they can  just as easily look after themselves or go to one of their own for whatever. He’s done making excuses and lying, and covering, and concocting, and weaving so many webs until he’s lost in them himself. He decided he wasn’t going to do that to his Dad especially anymore, seeing as the Sheriff more than anyone else truly deserved to know just what the fuck was going on in this freaky town of theirs.

He deserved to know about the “residents” that act as homing beacons for just about any and everything to go bump in the night. The ones that pull chaos and slaughter towards them like magnets and then release it out onto whoever gets caught in the fray of the crossfire. And there was, is and will be a lot of crossfire. Stiles has lost count of how many people have died since the wolves reappeared six months ago. Well actually, if he’s honest with himself, which has become harder and harder to do within recent times, he _stopped_ counting.

It’s pointless. Because the harsh reality is that every time something happens, every time there’s a disagreement, or someone develops a grudge, or someone new comes into town, people die. Granted people always die, but in Beacon Hills they’re dying before they need to and not by natural causes either. And it’s infuriating really because how can you justify the killing, on either side? At the end of the day it’s still murder, whether the victims are human or wolf or otherwise. Lives are still being taken, and more times than not it is without true, just cause and _that_ Stiles has a problem with: how they can just explain away murder like it’s nothing and lie to everyone around them with such practiced ease.

It's one practice he'll never make perfect.

Of course, being the third party outsider that he is, Stiles sees that the justifications from both sides aren’t all that just a lot of the time. But none of it is his concern anymore. He removed himself from the constant daytime night-time drama after things with the Kanima. Yes Jackson was back to normal, relatively speaking of course since he’s still his usual pissy, douchebag, jerkface self. But he’s just like the rest of _them_ now. And lately it seems like he wants to bring Danny in on it too. Stiles has a huge problem with that.

He likes Danny. A lot.

Danny doesn’t care that Stiles is awkward, that he’s on the bench all the time, has no brain to mouth filter, is nothing but gangly legs and flailing arms, and is just plain weird. And yes, Stiles can admit it, he is weird, but that’s nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about. Everyone else pretty much ignores him in school. Okay maybe Danny does too sometimes, but not as much as the rest of the high school population. He still sort of talks to Stiles, and humours stupid questions about his attractiveness to gay guys, and doesn’t slam him into lockers or threaten to do him bodily harm like certain other douchebags Stiles knows. And Stiles knows a lot of them. Therefore Stiles wants Danny to stay the way he is: nice and human. Jackson however, apparently has other ideas, and maybe, just maybe it’s because things have changed with Lydia. What that has to do with needing to change Danny however, Stiles hasn’t figured out yet.

Lydia is a whole other can of worms Stiles isn’t sure he wants to think about right now. Not that he usually thinks about worms, or cans of worms, because that’s weird and who does that...but he’s going off topic again. He can’t remember if he’s taken his Aderall as yet so maybe that has something to do with it.

But Lydia Martin is......well, Lydia Martin (ladies and gentlemen, Stilinski reasoning at its finest). Lifelong crushing aside, Stiles can look at this objectively and see all the things that could possibly have pushed them apart. And funnily enough those are the same things that had kept them together all this time, despite the break up and the hurtful words and both of them almost being killed. Why is it that everytime he thinks about someone he knows, killing or the possibility of them being killed immediately follows? There’s a pattern there though.

The tapping is louder now and it isn’t stopping. If anything it’s faster in pace, more urgent somehow. Why hasn’t whoever it is left him alone as yet? That’s all he wants, to be left alone. Before he really is killed or gets himself killed, or maybe kills himself on purpose. Except he won’t do that because he loves his dad too much to leave him out of sheer selfishness, despite the crap that he’s been forced to put up with thanks to certain shifters.

_“Stiles!”_

_HE_ is the last person Stiles wants to deal with right now. He’s purposely avoided the pack on a whole as best he could for reasons he doesn’t need to share and the least they could do is respect his unvoiced desire for solitude. Even though they’ve never respected his wishes in the past.

“Go away,” the teen mutters in reply, knowing it’ll be heard no matter how low his voice is or how muffled.

_“Stiles! Open the goddamn window NOW!”_

The growl is low but deep and laced with an unvoiced threat that really Stiles is used to and has therefore perfected the art of ignoring. The tapping turns into a sort of pounding that isn’t quite pounding because his visitor, and he’s using that term quite loosely, wouldn’t risk breaking the window and having the neighbours hear.

_“I swear to God Stilinski you better open the window before I-”_

“Before you WHAT?!” Stiles flies off his bed and stands at the window, yelling at the source of intrusion through the glass, because fuck it all he’s had just about all he can take of Derek-fucking-Hale.

Derek halts mid-pound as if he’s surprised at the outburst and stares at him with blazing blue eyes. But Stiles is immune enough by now to not be bothered by that. Plus he has...

“WHAT De-rek?” grounding out the name like it’s a bitter taste in his mouth that he’s being forced to acknowledge.

The surprise doesn’t last for long. Derek’s eyes flash with murderous intent and he glares at the teen like daggers will come out of his eyes and stab him to death for being so utterly difficult.

 _“Open.the.window.now!”_ he grits out quite literally as his jaws are pretty much locked down on each other.

“I don’t think so. Go away!”

_“I’m not going anywhere until you open the goddamn window and let me-”_

Yeah, Derek still hasn’t caught on to the novelty of asking people nicely when he wants something. Even having a pack to look after still hasn’t taught him that. Not that he’s obligated to be nice to his pack or speak nicely to them anyways. But Stiles isn’t pack and he doesn’t have to give in to Derek’s demands or commands since those are the only things he knows how to verbalise. Well those and threats of bodily harm, which are his specialty. Stiles absently wonders what specialties Jackson has and if douchebagery can be considered one.

“Let you what? Shove me up against my door again? Throw me into the wall? Or slam my head into my desk? Don’t you think you should be over physical threats by now? It’s just so six months ago you know? I mean if that’s still all you can do after being here for so long I’m not sorry to say there’s one more thing you’re gonna have to add to that list of your obvious retardations...”

“Fucking hell Stiles, just shut up already and open the window before I-”

“Make me?” Stiles cuts him off again, “I don’t think so...”

Derek’s eyes flash red this time. _Now_ Stiles can believe he might break the window to get at him.

“...because you see, unfortunately for you, I...”

Derek snarls defensively on reflex as Stiles pulls down a garland of wolfsbane from somewhere above the inside of the window and dangles it in front of the pane. Lips curl back over bared fangs and a sound of what comes across as pure unadulterated rage escapes him. Stiles feels more than sees Derek’s fist slam into the wall outside the window. The tremors rattle the posters hanging on the other side of it. He flinches on reflex.

There are some things your body just naturally reacts to in a certain way and this is one of those things. But the slight flinch is the only reaction Derek receives. The window doesn’t open. A threat like that will no longer work on _this_ human.

“Don’t come to my house again, don’t even _think_ about coming here,” Stiles says not skipping a beat, voice low and full of intent, though how he manages to sound like he’s capable of a threat is beyond him, “don’t come around my Dad, and _stay-the-hell-away-from-me._ ”

Every word is punctuated with more force than the previous one. His eyes narrow as he says that last part, in a manner that is very unlike the boy Derek has come to know, the boy he thought he knew.

“Or else _I_ will _make_ you...”

It’s nothing like the boy he knows.

“...and believe me when I say _I can_...”

 And in that split second the wolf realises: he doesn’t know who Stiles is.

He doesn’t know him anymore.

 _“Stiles...”_ Derek tries one last time, faint traces of pleading lingering in his tone now but Stiles won’t be taken in by that again.

The wolfsbane is left leaning against the window pane and Stiles retreats into the darkness of his room. He won’t feel sorry for what he’s done. He isn’t sorry. What does he owe Derek anyway?

Lines should have been drawn a long time ago.

Stiles has officially drawn his.

He won’t feign surprise at Derek being the one to make him break his sabbatical from interaction with any of the wolves or their extended pack. Patience and restraint aren’t the guy’s finer points after all so it was only a matter of time before the Alpha sought him out. Things were just always that way between them.

* * *

Later on, when he has time to think over the events of that night, several things come to the fore of Stiles’ mind that he didn’t notice at the point in time thanks to the heat of the moment hazing over everything else.

There had been something in Derek’s eyes just before Stiles turned him away. The furious glare reduced to a stunned stare and maybe more that he couldn’t make out in the darkness with only the faint light of the street lamps to illuminate parts of Derek’s face. He's not sure he wants to try and decipher any of it. After all, he doesn't care anymore. It's not his problem.

But he also realises one very vital, pertinent and possibly life-threatening fact:

He flat out denied Derek Hale.

Alpha Derek Hale.

Him.

Stiles Stilinski.

And Derek just...retreated. Tucked tail and backed off like Stiles was worthy of consideration as an opponent (for lack of a better word) or at least someone who was not pack. And he has to interpret it like that because given the circumstances, how else can you interpret the man’s lack of reaction?

Pack listened, pack took you in, no questions asked. Well maybe not Derek’s pack. They’d ask a million questions and whine and moan but do whatever he asked anyways. Pack didn’t reject you, didn’t shut the door in your face or, as in Stiles' case, leave you outside on a windowsill in the middle of the night and dangle wolfsbane in your face.

It occurs to him that the balance has shifted.

What the fuck?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end of chapter 1.  
> I'm still freaking out the fact that I've posted this on AO3. It's like purposely throwing myself into the lion's den (because epic lives here and I'm hoping I can too)
> 
> Would love to hear from you guys: comments, questions, criticisms, everything!
> 
> See you in chapter 2 :)


	2. Confrontation

***

_And we all know how to fake it_

_And we all know what we’ve done_

_We must be killers_

_Children of the wild ones  
_

***

 

Two days.

That's all the reprieve he gets before they flock to him like flies to honey. Like moths to a flame. Well on that last one it's more like he's the moth to soon be burned in the flames of their fury. Then again when are they ever not furious at someone or for something?

Erica is the first and again he can't say he's surprised. She's awfully proud of her Alpha after all, or protective of him or whatever it is her feelings on the matter can be called.

Stiles finds himself slammed into his locker, her curvy frame pressing him back into the hard, cold, unforgiving metal. This is totally not how he ever pictured a hot chick coming at him. Even in his kinky dreams. Even if it is Erica, whom he's never thought of in a sexual manner, ever...until her makeover. Not that he's thought of her in a sexual manner since then or right now. He's definitely never dreamed of said hot chick flashing her not so insignificant canines inches away from his jugular either.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” she hisses not very quietly.

“What? No ‘Hello Stiles, how’s it going?’” he can’t help it. Words are his only defence so he uses them, even when he really shouldn’t.

Boyd and Isaac are lounging around on the lockers opposite them as if there isn't a helpless human being manhandled in plain sight by a sexy, psychopath of a girl wearing killer high heels and dangerous red lipstick. Again with the referring to Erica and sex-anything in the same sentence. What is that about? Subliminal messaging?

Snarks aside, Stiles is, however, over the physical interaction.

“Besides the fact that I’m currently letting you handle me in ways that are so _not_ sexual?”

Isaac actually lets out a snicker at that before Boyd elbows him into silence. Erica snarls angrily and shoves him just a little higher up against his locker.

“You think you’re so smart and so clever that you can just go around doing whatever you want and saying whatever you want to whoever you feel like...”

“What, like you guys do all the time? Like you’re doing with me right now?” Yes Stiles is fully aware that he has a death wish.

Her grip on his neck tightens, “You disrespected my Alpha!”

Stiles eyes widen momentarily and he loses his words for a second. But only a second, because he finds them almost immediately after.

“Right, and _that_ totally justifies aggravated assault. It all makes sense now! Thanks for clearing that up for me,” the retort flying off the tip of his tongue like second nature.

Erica has obviously lost her sense of humor because he can feel the tips of her claws starting to dig into his neck. Maybe he should learn how to keep his mouth shut. Oh well, too late now.

“You outrightly defied him then gave him an ultimatum, threatened him and then turned him away!! You almost _killed_ him and you’re pissy because I shoved you up against a locker? I should break your arm and then see wher-” she's seething now and he can see in her eyes that she clearly believes everything she's saying is true.

What-the-fuck?

“ _I almost killed him?_ Are you out of your freaking mind? Just because I didn’t give him a free pass to my bedroom at all hours of the night...”

He cuts off for a second realising a little too late how that sounds. Now both Boyd and Isaac are snickering at him, loudly. Stiles colours slightly in mortification.

“That’s not what I...I mean it’s not...oh god. Look, I didn’t kill him or almost kill him or whatever you’re going on about. He came to my house demanding I let him in and I told him to leave and never come back again. If he wants to go around saying crap that isn’t true then it’s totally all on you missy if you believe him but I-”

“He was injured Stiles...” Isaac says softly with that kicked puppy face of his that used to make Stiles feel ten kinds of horrible about things that weren’t his fault, kind of like it's currently doing right now.

His mouth flaps open to respond but nothing comes out. Okay, so that was a minor detail Derek conveniently forgot to mention while he was apparently bleeding to death or whatever outside his window. Still, Stiles is not about to take the blame for any of whatever this is. There is no way he's letting them pin Derek’s shit on him. Erica needs to get her brain corrected. And apparently he says as much out loud because she growls menacingly (and this isn't her annoyed-at-Stiles growl), her eyes are an even brighter shade of gold and suddenly it's harder to breathe properly. Oh right, she’s slowly crushing his windpipe. Talk about déjà vous. For a second, the sensation of Matt’s foot against his throat flashes through his mind before he blinks and then it's gone.

“...and he came to _you_ for help...” Boyd speaks now, his tone filled with something that sounds a little like resentment, like Derek hadn’t _deigned_ to call any of them to come to his aid. Like it's a slap in the face that he went to _Stiles_ of all people, over all of them. Stiles thinks he is on the verge of going into shock because what the hell? Who died and made him den mother designate?

"Did I miss the memo where I was appointed the go-to-guy for werewolf booboos and other miscellaneous items? In case you hadn’t noticed, I gave up club membership a long time ago. Returned my discount card and parking sticke...”

Erica snaps, because obviously she’s had it with his blasé attitude and mouthing off, and slams his head into the locker. Hard and fast like she means it. Then she lets go and he drops to the ground holding his head. Something warm and wet is sliding down the back of his neck and he smells copper. She cut him! Erica fucking cut him with her nails! Everything spins a few more times and he has to take rapid deep breaths until his vision stops blurring and he can stand again. The dizziness fades out for the most part but he’s angry now, angrier than when she first grabbed him because where the fuck do they get off dicking him around like he’s some plaything they can just throw down?

Isaac is the one who comes to him while Boyd restrains Erica, or at least tries too. It’s hard to pay attention to what she’s saying (or snarling depending on how you look at it) when Isaac’s got a hold of him, palms warm and gentle around the sides of his neck as he leeches out Stiles’ pain. He doesn’t apologise either, because Erica is pack after all and they’d obviously share similar sentiments, but he doesn’t need to because Stiles sees it in his eyes. He always used to think Isaac was too soft for this kind of life, too good to be made into this, but he never voiced that thought and he won’t now. Not when Isaac is making him feel so good that he just wants to curl into those hands and stay there forever. Everything’s light and there’s a pleasant buzzing from where the young wolf is touching him and for a second Stiles thinks he’s so screwed up to hate them and yet be enjoying this all the same. Most days he can’t make sense of himself anyways so he doesn’t dwell on it too much. Instead he focuses on Isaac, and that is more than enough to distract Stiles from his current predicament, if only for a few blessed moments.

His secret scrutiny reveals that Isaac’s gotten leaner (more compact, firm muscle as opposed to hard bulk like Boyd) and even more appealing, if that’s possible, in the time that Stiles has stayed away from the pack. And yes, maybe he did have a slight ~~crush~~ attraction to the taller teen since that time he first saw him shirtless in the locker room but honestly, could you blame him? Isaac Lahey was all tall, fair-skinned, pink plump lipped, thick curly-haired, broad-shouldered, brilliantly blue-eyed, puppy-faced, sinewy (that word was so hot), sexy goodness on long, lean (there was that word again) legs that starred in many of Stiles’ dreams. Dreams where they did unspeakable things that he would never ever admit out loud. And he’s getting completely distracted again, but that's kind of the point right? Except now he might start smelling like things that won't help his cause with the wolves around.

Soon the pain is gone. It only took a few mins but it totally doesn’t seem that way when your skull’s been forced to suck face with metal like a suppressed horny bastard. Isaac’s blue eyes reappear once more, the gold receding as the healing is done, and sweep over Stiles’ face as though looking for something. His lips part like he’s going to speak but apparently decides against it and retreats to where Erica’s writhing around in Boyd’s hands like a slippery fish trying to get back into the water.

Stiles knows though, he sees in it the wolf’s body language: they need to talk. He doesn’t know if he wants to, doesn’t think he should and most likely he won’t. Regardless of Isaac’s appeal, which is something he’s never thought to address properly either but maybe he should if his thoughts from a few minutes ago are anything to go by.

He does need to say something right now though, to end this, before Boyd decides it’s too much of a hassle to keep holding on to the lone she-wolf of the pack. His fingers, he’s not even using his hands anymore which is an indicator of just how much his strength has grown,  are wrapped around her upper arms like iron vices and she’s just swinging uselessly towards Stiles, still threatening, but unable to reach him to do any real damage.

“Stay-the-hell-away-from-me... _bitch_!” he spits out when it seems like he’s got a hold of himself again, “I don’t know what you think I did or didn’t do, or what Derek told you happened...” and he has to pause and close his eyes because the spinning starts again and fuck, he really wishes he could slap her around too, “...but I’ll tell you what I told him: if you come near me again you-will-regret-it.”

His voice is low, like the other night with Derek, his heartbeat steady. The wolves know he isn’t lying. They don’t know how he’d be able to make good on the threat but his heart is telling them enough to know they should believe him. They don’t know about the aniseed-coated spray can of wolfsbane in his jacket pocket either. He curls his right hand around it as a reminder of his ability to protect himself. Erica however, infamous for having far less control than the others and prone to her impulses (she obviously didn’t outgrow those as yet), snarls in response and snaps at him.

“If you ever do anything to fuck with _my_ Alpha again you won’t be able to blink fast enough to think of a threat!”

Before he can respond though, the bell rings signalling the end of the period, and the halls are once again flooded with people, with life. And just like that they’re gone, melting into the sea of students and Stiles’ eyes lose track of them.

He inhales and exhales as slowly as he can in an attempt to stamp down the slight flare of panic starting to well up inside him. They aren’t so stupid as to  seriously harm him while at school with so many witnesses around, but that apparently didn’t factor in when roughing him up a bit (according to werewolf standards) but a lot according to his standards. He’s also guessing Derek must have been hurt pretty badly if Erica's so upset that she's brave (or stupid) enough to do what she did, fully aware of the consequences if they're caught.

For a minute, Stiles doesn’t know what to do. Normally Scott would have come rushing to the rescue to intervene, but now there’s no one he can go to about this. No one he can rant to, no one who will listen to him ramble on incessantly about how his life is just a dragnet for disaster, how there’s like some invisible neon sign flashing over his head that says ‘Death and Danger apply within’, how he feels more alone than he’s ever been in his life and he doesn’t know what to do because he purposely made things that way.

He gingerly lifts a hand to feel the back of his head again. The blood’s scabbed over (thanks to Isaac) but he really should go to the nurse’s office and get it checked out because he’s totally not into getting a brain infection, so he does. When he knocks on the door and goes in, Ms. Morell (who is suddenly everywhere now) is there putting away rolls of bandages. Her eyes immediately flicker over him in a way that makes him think she already knows why he’s there and how it happened.

“Stiles,” she says by way of a greeting.

Is it his fault that she still makes him uncomfortable? He knows she’s something like an acquaintance of Deaton’s or maybe an even closer relation but his head is starting to hurt again and all he wants is to get bandaged up, take some painkillers, and maybe lie down for a while because things are starting to spin again and the last thing he sees is her face going sideways before everything goes black...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so we're clear, I don't think Erica's a bitch. She just has the ability to be really bitchy, especially now that she's a wolf, because now she can act on it. But I love her too (especially her amazing boobs lol)
> 
> Hope I'm on spot with the pack's characterizations. I've been rewatching season 2 to make sure I get them right but of course I've got artistic license after all so there's that.
> 
> See u in chapter 3!


	3. In Whom We Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank for all the comments and the kudos and wow 1900+ hits *blushes shyly* you guys are amazing.
> 
> So pack feels galore are ahead. You have been warned. (oh and let me know if I'm off on any of the characterizations)
> 
> p.s. can someone give me the name of a good injectable painkiller? I don't really know of any so I didn't use a name but I will insert it after if anyone knows a really good sounding one)

***

_Killers_

_Where we got left to run?_

_Killer, killer, killer_

***

 

When he comes to, he’s lying on one of the sick beds and Ms. Morell is talking rapidly into a cellphone a few feet away from him. Stiles can’t hear the conversation but she doesn’t look too pleased about whatever it is. His eyelids feel slightly heavy, like he can’t open them all the way, which would probably explain why he’s only seeing through slits for eyes. He thinks he’s groans quietly as he tries to move his head more to the left but he apparently isn’t all that quiet because her voice stops and Stiles feels, more than sees, her eyes land on him.

“I will.”

The conversation ends with those words and then she's coming over to stand next to him. Her palm is surprisingly cool on his forehead as she strokes slightly backwards into his hairline.

“How’s your head Stiles?”

She doesn’t ask how he’s feeling because that’s kind of a stupid question (duh) and the answer is way too complicated anyways. The pounding in his head is faint but still present and uncomfortable, like an itch deep inside your ear that you can’t reach to scratch.

“Still hurts,” because the lethargic feeling lingering in his body doesn’t allow for full strings of sentences right now.

“I cleaned and bandaged you up, after you passed out, and gave you some painkillers to help with the throb. That’s quite a nasty bump..."

“No kidding,"

He’s banged up, not dead. Words are how he deflects intrusions and he’s lucid enough to detect the beginnings of questions from her.

“You also have a slight concussion, so I’d suggest you stay here for the while. Don’t want to risk any more incidents do we?”

Stiles thinks she’s been hanging out with Deaton way too long because she speaks the way he does: like she knows what you're gonna say before you do and she’s just waiting for confirmation. He's never decided whether he trusts her or not. With Deaton, Stiles was 95% sure he was on their side. With Ms. Morell, it’s different. She has this lingering air about her, like she’s two different people at the same time. She speaks one way, but her body language throws you off. It’s hard to pin her down. Hard to know exactly what her angle is. But for the time being, she’s looking after him and that’s all he cares about right now.

“Painkillers?” he says after a beat, “How?” because he knows he wasn’t awake to swallow anything down.

She smiles in that way that reminds him a creeping feline, a sneaky cat. She does have the eyes for it.

“I injected you with a shot of (insert name of painkiller here) so it would enter your bloodstream immediately. It works faster than actual pills, which I would have had to force down your throat while you were unconscious.”

Now that would have been all kinds of uncomfortable. But being injected...with needles...sharp, thin lengths of pointy metal...that pierce your skin... Stiles cringes visibly. He doesn’t like needles. Never has. As a kid, it was always a hell of a fight whenever he had to visit the Doctor. He likes shiny things yes, but shiny metal injectable things? No. Just no.

All the while she’s been stroking his hair, distracting him from the ache somewhat. Kind of like his mom used to do when he couldn’t fall asleep. If he closes his eyes, it’s exactly like his mom. He doesn’t know if that’s a comfort or just plain creepy.

“Would you like to tell me what happened Stiles?”

Ms. Morell has a distinct voice, a distinct tone that he’s never heard in anyone else’s. The way she says his name, soft and lilting kind of, makes him want to tell her because she sounds like she cares. But it also makes him want to keep his mouth shut because there’s that ever present undertone that makes him think she’s fishing. Calculating, behind those big brown eyes of hers. That there’s something he should be picking up on, be wary of. As far as he can tell, it’s 50/50 with her, but he’s got no one. No one else he can share this with.

So he does.

* * *

Scott misses his best friend. Or former best friend he should say.

They haven’t spoken in over six months and really, he doesn’t know why. It feels like a significant part of him, that he can’t get back, has been forcefully taken from him. Well more like ripped away actually, because somehow 'taken' doesn’t quite describe it.

It started with little things, like Stiles’ replying really late to a text or missing a call, or two. Then it turned into not replying at all, and missing multiple calls that were never returned, ever. He didn’t even randomly text in the middle of the night or early on a Sunday morning when Scott was still asleep like he had been doing since they both got cellphones. If Scott wanted to hang out, he’d make some excuse to get out of it. If Scott needed him for something, he was busy and couldn’t leave to come help.

So Scott tried emailing instead. Sometimes there were replies, but nothing more than a few lines, and nothing truly substantial, nothing to give him a clue about what was going on. And then one day he got an automatic reply from _MailerDaemon_ saying _Mail undelivered to recipient blah blah blah_. It wasn’t like his best friend to ignore him like this so he figured if Stiles didn’t want to see him in person maybe he’d talk to him on Skype. It was a longshot, seeing as he wasn’t on IM anymore and his email had apparently been shut down, but he still had to try. Skype didn’t work either as Stiles was no longer in his contacts, actually Stiles wasn’t an existing contact on any of his social network accounts. It was like all traces of him had been erased from Scott’s Facebook. Not as much as a _‘like’_ or comment remained anywhere. How he had managed to do this was beyond him. Then again, since all his passwords were Allison (and Stiles knew them all) it probably wouldn’t have taken him much to go through all the accounts and remove himself. And Scott wouldn’t have thought to check anyways. He'd been busy almost every other night with werewolf stuff so by the time he did notice it was too late to do anything about it. Stiles didn’t even show up in any of the results when he tried searching for him. That was when he started to realise that something was wrong.

At school, Stiles started coming just in time to make the bell and then disappeared as soon as the last class was over. He wouldn’t sit near Scott in class anymore. He was permanently absent from their study group and switched lab partners when they got paired with each other. For someone with no supernatural abilities, he’d perfected the art of avoidance. No matter what he did, Scott could never catch up to him. And if it wasn't for the simple fact that he still sees Stiles everyday, he would've thought he just upped and left Beacon Hills without saying anything. Maybe he could have dealt with that, but this, this is worse.

Stiles has just pulled out of his life without any warning and he still doesn't know why.

Lunch isn’t the same without him. Scott misses the familiar comfort of Stiles’ rambling at the pack’s table in the cafeteria. And yes, they're finally acting like a real pack and sitting together at lunch, so Scott doesn’t know what to say when Lydia notices that Stiles is no longer there to steal the chocolate chip cookies off her tray that she purposely started bringing on a regular basis because she knows how much he likes them. He doesn't know what to say when Danny looks over at the empty chair where Stiles used to sit next to him and gets this funny expression on his face that looks like a cross between sadness, confusion and longing. He doesn't know what to say when Jackson asks where the hell testicle #2 is after Finstock blows Scott's right ear off _"because Bolinski missed four practices in a row."_   The next day of course there's a letter taped to the Coach's office door and that afternoon at practice there's a notable drop in the noise of the locker room as Stiles' name is erased from the playboard and replaced by Greenberg's. There's the weight of the entire team's questioning stares on the back of his neck as Stiles' name is scratched off the starting lineup and Scott wants nothing more than to just run out of there, away from the judgements they're secretly making.

Everyone's looking to him for answers, answers as to why they're being snubbed so blatantly without a word. Why they don't hear from or see Stiles anymore, why his cell number is disconnected, why when they go to his house it's always locked. Why won't Sheriff Stilinski let them see him or give them an answer as to what's going on with his son, with their friend.

And he doesn't know. He just doesn't know and it's killing him because he never knows anything and this is like the epitome of all the things he never knows. It makes him feel inadequate and helpless. Useless. Incapable of giving those closest to him what they need in order to be whole again.

He's hurting and Allison feels it. It's like something clouds up his eyes, or comes over his face, and she just knows and then her hand is slipping into his and squeezing comfortingly. She still smiles that beautiful smile of hers, the one that shows her dimples and makes her eyes crinkle and shine, but it doesn't quite turn up all the way like it used to. She's Scott's girlfriend yes, his mate even (though they haven't fully discussed that yet), but she's not Stiles. She can't replace a brother, can't fill those shoes, no matter how much she wants to take away Scott's pain. And so for all her strength, this is one weakness that she cannot overcome.

Lydia's hurting and Jackson feels it. She's never admitted it out loud, but Stiles' being there for her through the whole Jackson/Kanima ordeal meant more to her than any of them realised. She's grown to love him in a way that she doesn't feel towards anyone else and is sure she never will. Everyday she wears a piece of the jewellery he bought her because it's the closest she can be to him even though he isn't there and because that particular birthday, as painful as the circumstances were, will always hold a special place in her heart. And Lydia Martin doesn't share her heart space with just anyone. It's reserved for her mother, the pack, Jackson, and Stiles. But now that space is vacant, painfully empty, and she's having a hard time filling it again. Jackson tries, he tries so hard, but that emptiness, when it's channelled through Lydia, just magnifies everything until being an asshole is all he can do to distract himself from it. Because he will never admit (just like Lydia won't) that he cares about the stupid, loud-mouthed kid who's wormed his way into all of their hearts, who's absence screams louder in Jackson's ears than the haunting nightmares he has about when he was the Kanima.

Isaac withdraws into himself, goes back to how he was before the bite. He's with them physically but it's like he's just a shell sitting there, waiting for Derek to call them to action because that breathes life back into him for a bit. Until it's over and he goes back to being lost inside again. Not even the full strength of the pack's support can pull him out. And this hurts Scott more, because Isaac is his brother too so his pain is Scott's pain and since the same thing is hurting them the intensity of the loss is doubled. Sometimes after a run through the woods, he just collapses and lays there, staring up at nothing in particular as though he might find answers. But the only thing the sky does is rain, falling harder and harder, like it feels Isaac's sorrow and is trying to wash it away. Unless it's crying too, thundering it's darkness everywhere so everyone knows that this absence is all-encompassing. Then Scott will appear and the pack will find them hours later, tangled together, wrapped in each other's arms, tear stains still visible on Isaac's cheeks despite the downpour. His wolf refuses to accept this. It can't and it won't.

Erica is...angrier...than usual. She's still cocky and cold-hearted but there's a new edge to her roughness. She's gone from a girl with an unseen crush, to a shewolf with an unrequited crush, to a wolf who crushes anything in her path because she can't deal with the loss of the boy that made her feel. It's like Selina loosing herself in Catwoman because Batman no longer exists, because Bruce is gone. She doesn't do anything to disrupt the pack, she needs them after all to keep her grounded. But when they fight, when they hunt, when they kill, she goes all out and just immerses herself in it because when the blood is rushing in her ears she doesn't focus on the fact that one constant sound in their world is missing yet again: the beat of his heart. And she really misses it. Not the way her Alpha does, because _that_ is something _completely_ different. She misses the familiarity of it. Even before they became friends (after she was turned that is), his heart had a specific rhythm around her. She knows he's never loved her, never felt the way she did towards him, but that rhythm has always been there, until it's not anymore. So she loses it and lets herself go because now there's nothing to keep in time to.

And Boyd, well he's never said much anyways. He's the silent protector. Strong and unmovable, the wall around their castle that keeps anything that can hurt them from getting through. This time though there's nothing he can do to shelter the pack or himself from what's been done. Because this time it's from within their ranks. One of their own is causing this pain. One of their own has carved this gaping hole in his chest that grows wider and wider the longer the pack mourns. And while Boyd is not the kind to say so, Scott knows he's hurting too. Scott knows:

The entire pack is mourning.

They all feel the loss because, bite or no bite, Stiles = pack. He is what keeps them together. He is what keeps their humanity just within reach. He reminds them that they need each other to survive, that they can't do this on their own, none of them. He is the core of their family unit: he finds the solutions, he comes up with a plan when no one else can see the way out. He is the one that makes them trust: in themselves, in each other, in Derek. He keeps that trust solid and tangible no matter what they're up against.

But now he's gone.

He's left them.

And they are weak and broken without him, so they crumble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too wallowy maybe?
> 
> Next chapter is Derek's p.o.v in case anyone's wondering (they asked since ch1 on ffn so I though I'd let u guys know without anyone having to ask)


	4. Running To

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I know this chapter will probably suck but I'd honestly only gotten as far as ch3 and then I had to juggle writing with vacuuming the living room, washing virtually a month's worth of clothes, cleaning my room and some other things cuz tumblr's down today (obv. this was written on saturday but only being posted now).
> 
> Yeah so this suffered miserably. My sincerest apologies for the crap you're about to read.
> 
> Hopefully this won't blow too much and you guys will stick around for ch5. It'll be better I swear!
> 
> p.s. It's Derek's p.o.v. this rounds as promised and god I'm really sorry that it's not better, Derek does deserve the best.

 

***

_Set my body free_

_The silver tigers in the moon light running_

_And the wind in the trees_

_Singing do you believe?_

****

 

Derek wonders if his life would have still turned out like this had his family been alive, if Peter hadn’t killed Laura and then gone insane and forced Derek to kill him, if the truce between the Hales and the Argents had still existed. There isn’t much time to wonder though seeing as he’s currently running from Hunters, and the Police, _again_. He hasn’t called his pack. It’s better if he doesn’t. How would that look after all, if the Alpha has to be calling his pack to “rescue” him everytime he gets his ass in a bind? Although he is entitled to call them whenever for whatever, but his pride (yes he still has it) won’t allow it right now.

And Jesus fucking Christ those sirens are blaring loud and annoying in his ears. Hypersensitive hearing isn’t as cool as it sounds.

Running through the neighbourhood, he just barely remembers it’s Stiles’. And if he recalls correctly, the Stilinski house is about four streets away. Who’s he kidding? Of course he remembers the way perfectly, he’s been there a million times before but that’s irrelevant.

Did he mention he’s bleeding?

Like seriously bleeding. From, well, pretty much _everywhere_ , since all over him is wet and warm and sticky, and he thinks that really there shouldn’t be this much blood but if he just gets to Stiles then it will be okay. If he just...makes himself focus on the thought, on forming the words in his head, he’ll be okay and that tiny sliver of panic niggling at the back of his mind won’t take over and make him collapse before he’s ready to. Before he gets to Stiles. Because Stiles will fix everything, Stiles will fix him and he won’t die and life will be good again. Or as good it can possibly be when you’re an Alpha constantly being chased by people who want to decapitate you or cut you in half and kill your pups and wipe out your kind in general.

Then he laughs.

Internally of course, because now is most definitely not the time to be laughing out loud. What kind of impression would _that_ give his attackers? He must be going insane, like Peter, or maybe the blood loss is just making him a little delirious? Why is he still laughing when he’s on the verge of bleeding to death? Okay so maybe he isn’t going to bleed to death and maybe he’s exaggerating a little but he’s badly injured (he hasn’t been this banged up in a while) so he’s entitled to one second of insanity.

Apparently hunters train like crazy mad. Tonight was ridiculous. That ambush was bizarre and it wasn’t Argent and Derek isn’t functioning properly enough to guess who did attack him. And yes, he is aware that he doesn’t sound like himself right now but he blames it on...why is he still bleeding so much? Isn’t there some like law of bleeding or something that says a person can only bleed for so much before passing out from shock, or going into shock, or going into a coma...what if he goes into a coma? Can you fall into a coma while running for your life down a deserted street in the middle of the night?

A particularly high pitched siren wail shatters his eardrums and he winces in pain but keeps running. He will have a killer headache soon, if he isn’t dead by then, and what was he thinking about before all of this?

Oh right: Stiles.

Find Stiles’ house and everything will be fine because Ms McCall is a nurse (wait what does that have to do with anything?) and Stiles has patched them all up so many times Derek’s surprised he’s not a doctor by now. No wait, that’s wrong, he’s eighteen and still in high school so not possible, unless he’s secretly a genius and a doctor and wow he sounds way too much like Stiles right now so he’s going to stop thinking, right now, this moment.

The only sounds are his feet hitting the ground, the blast of the sirens, and the scent of the Hunters in the shadows (yes he knows that isn’t a sound but he’s wounded so excuse him). How did this happen? And why is the Stilinski house so far away? Shouldn’t he be there already?

In response to that thought his feet put on a burst of speed, body switching to autopilot now, because his destination is in sight. Derek veers off the main street and disappears into the darkness of the trees. He has to lead them as far away from here as possible and the reserve is the best place to do that.

Running through the reserve at night is actually pleasant, when you’re not being chased within an inch of your life that is. Especially when the moon is big and bright. It illuminates everything, bathes it in a beautiful ethereal white light. It feels like magic. But he can’t enjoy that magic tonight. Maybe later, or tomorrow. It’s quiet though, even the animals are quiet, but he does hear some barn owls hooting and crickets calling out. The loudness of the chase sounds like a cacophony of thunder and impending death compared to the absolute stillness of the reserve. The cops are on foot now, with their canine compatriots, and so are the hunters. Time to let the wolf do its job.

He shifts and makes a lot of noise barreling through brush and branches, letting his clothes catch on things, letting his scent drift all over the place. That will keep them busy all night if he’s lucky. Then he climbs up a particularly tall tree and, using the height as leverage, springs off of it into the top of another, heading the opposite way. This high up, the dogs won’t be able to catch even a whiff of his scent thus effectively keeping them off his back.

It takes him a few minutes to reach the edge of the forest and then he’s running in the direction he was originally headed.

The house is dark. Derek just makes out the sound of the lone heartbeat within and feels himself relax a little. Why he feels so relieved is something he doesn’t have the energy to think about right now. Not now. Heal first, think later. Best plan ever.

He climbs up to Stiles’ window and tries to open it. The thing doesn’t budge. What the hell? He tries again. No luck. Derek’s quickly losing patience with this stupid inanimate object that’s denying him entrance into the house (because who uses front doors anymore) so he growls out of frustration and rattles the window like it’ll magically open through his sheer force of will.

Two minutes later he’s still outside the window, just barely balancing on the window sill. This cannot be happening. He groans in defeat and taps on the pane.

“Stiles!” and it’s a stage whisper because there’s no way he wants to be caught, by anyone, right now.

There’s no reply and this infuriates Derek even more because he can clearly see the outline of Stiles’ body lying on his bed, can hear his steady heat beat, so he knows the kid is awake and fully aware that there’s someone outside his window. But he doesn’t get up, he doesn’t move, nothing. Derek’s dying and it’s like Stiles just can’t be bothered. He taps on the window again, faster this time, because he’s starting to see spots before his eyes and his body feels light like he isn’t in it anymore and that can’t be good by any stretch of the imagination.

“STILES!” louder now.

He knows this isn’t wolfsbane anything. Wolfsbane doesn’t make you think you’re floating and turning into a block of lead at the same time. The effects would have been far different: he’d be dead already. Derek bangs harder on the glass.

“Open the goddamn window!”

 _“Go away,”_ is the muttered reply.

Well that’s new. Stiles has never said that before. Normally he whines and makes some sort of flimsy excuse before he’s sliding the window open to let Derek in. What gives?

Something at the back of his mind tells Derek he knows why but he’s too exhausted right now to remember so he just growls, low and deep, tone laced with an unvoiced threat. And really, he won’t hurt the kid. He just wants to lie down on the floor and writhe in pain damnit because at this point he’s not picky and doesn’t care, even if Stiles doesn’t want to help him. So the banging turns into a sort of pounding that isn’t quite pounding because god forbid he wakes the neighbours at this time on night! And how would that look?

_Bleeding, older man (formerly accused of murder and arrested as such)_

_breaks into bedroom of the local Sheriff’s teenage son in the middle of the night._

Yeah that’s a title he’d love to have spray painted over the walls of his ruin of a home. There’s a numbness spreading through his limbs now, a heaviness enveloping him, and he doesn’t know how much longer he’s going to be able to hold himself up before he just falls off the window sill and cracks open on the ground below.

“I swear to God Stilinski you better open the window before -”

 _“Before WHAT?!”_ Stiles yells, finally flying off his bed to stand at the window and glare bloody murder at Derek.

How ironic is this moment? If everything wasn’t hurting so badly right now he’d probably snort out a disbelieving laugh through his nose at the irony, oh the sweet, sweet irony.

Instead Derek halts mid-pound, taken aback by the outburst, staring at the defiant teen on the other side of the window with blazing blue eyes. He really doesn’t know how to respond to that. He doesn’t know what he was going to do. He just wants in, desperately. His ears are ringing and blood’s still falling out of his body like an exploded faucet.

_“WHAT DE-REK?”_

Stiles grounds out his name like it’s a bitter taste in his mouth, or a bad smell, that he’s being forced to acknowledge and Derek is surprised. But he also doesn’t like that tone and his eyes flash with murderous intent, surprise wearing off instantly. The Alpha doesn’t like that tone. Especially when it’s coming from one of his pack. And it takes every last scrap of the control Derek doesn’t have at the moment to keep his eyes from going red and making Stiles do as he says. He returns a withering glare of his own at the kid like he’s willing daggers to come out and stab him to death for being so utterly difficult.

“Open-the-window-now-and-let-me-in!”  he grits out because the pain is so intense now that he’s locked his jaws together just so he won’t gnaw off his own tongue.

 _“I don’t think so. Go away!”_ Stiles actually fucking folds his arms and plants his feet like a petulant child having a hissy fit.

“I’m not going anywhere until you open the goddamn window and let me-”

Let him what? Not bleed to death before Stiles’ eyes? Not pass out like a weakling on the floor?

Yeah, because that will totally not make the idiot ask a million questions before actually letting him in. And Derek still doesn’t understand why he can’t make the window open. Normally all he has to do is push up hard enough to break the latch and hey presto he’s inside. What is this sorcery? Concrete and titanium?

_“Let you what? Shove me up against my door again? Throw me into the wall? Or slam my head into my desk? Don’t you think you should be over physical threats by now? It’s just so six months ago you know? I mean if that’s still all you can do after being here for so long I’m not sorry to say there’s one more thing you’re gonna have to add to that list of your obvious retardations...”_

“Fucking hell Stiles, just shut up already and open the window or else I’ll-”

He can’t take much more of this pointless talking. He’s just lost feeling in his right leg and his left arm is starting to feel funny too. The spots before his eyes stopped a long time ago. Now everything’s covered in a haze of smoke and Derek feels like he’s swimming underwater.

 _“Make me?”_ Stiles cuts him off again, _“I don’t think so...”_

Really? What is up with _everything_ just defying him today? Derek’s eyes do flash red this time. He thinks now might be a good time to break the window just so he can get his hands around the little brat and...

But he can’t kill Stiles, because he needs him. Oh how he needs him. And that sounds like quite the opposite of what he meant when he first thought it.

_“...because you see, unfortunately for you I...”_

A hardness Derek’s never seen before enters Stiles’ eyes and settles over his face like an unmovable mask. He snarls viciously defensive on reflex as the boy pulls down a sizeable garland of wolfsbane (where the hell did he get that?!) from somewhere above the inside of the window and dangles it in the wolf’s face. So that’s why he couldn’t get the damn thing to open.

Derek’s lips curl back, over bared fangs, and a sound of what comes across as pure unadulterated rage escapes him. His fist slams into the wall next to the window, the tremors rattling through his arm and up into his skull making him wince uncomfortably but it’s too dark for Stiles to notice, who simply flinches on reflex but that’s the only reaction Derek receives. A momentary flinch. The window remains closed.

Why is he doing this? Why now? Can’t he choose a more convenient time to throw a tantrum? Like preferably when Derek isn’t on the verge of passing out in thirty seconds or less? His head droops a little as the buzzing in his limbs reaches his brain. It’s already taking everything he’s got to not let go. Because if he does...

 _“Don’t come to my house again...”_ Stiles says not skipping a beat, “... _don’t even think about coming...”_ voice sharp like knives and full of intent, _“...don’t come around my Dad,”_ though how he manages to sound like he’s capable of a threat is beyond Derek, _“...and_ _stay-the-hell-away-from-me!_ ”

Stiles punctuates each word with more force than the previous and sounds so unlike himself that Derek _has_ to force his head up to look at him, has to see it with his own eyes. If he didn’t see it, and couldn’t smell it, he would swear something alien has taken up residence in the teen’s body. Because what he sees are usually-soft-brown-eyes narrowing to cold slits as Stiles tells him to stay the hell away from him in a manner that is completely unlike the boy he knows.

It’s nothing like the boy he _thought_ he knew and something inside him pulls and tightens painfully at the change in tenses.

_“Or else I will make you...”_

In that split second he realises: He doesn’t know who this is.

The connection to Stiles is ripping away inside his chest.

_“...and believe me when I say I can.”_

And the thread breaks. Snaps like a twig.

The warmth where once the part of _his_ pack that was Stiles used to be is gone by the time the silence sets in. Derek feels like a limb’s been chopped off. His wolf is howling in anguish. Stiles’ words are echoing inside his head, playing over and over, slicing through his physical pain, introducing a new one in their wake. A stifling emptiness rises quickly; everything else has dissolved into nothingness. But he tries one last time.

“ _Stiles_... _please_...” the desperation more plaintive now.

He’s pleading, even as the last of his strength is ebbing away.

But it’s too soft for Stiles to hear and the wolf watches with darkening vision, that’s quickly fading, as his last hope retreats into the shadows of the room, leaving the wolfsbane leaning against the inside of the window as a barrier, and Derek on the outside to die in the dark.

It’s too late now.

He doesn’t know where to run to anymore.


	5. Everyone's got a secret (and sometimes they keep it)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to warn everyone: SOME SERIOUS MIND FUCKERY THAT NONE OF YOU WOULD EXPECT IS COMING UP SO PLEASE PUT ON YOUR BIG GIRL/BIG BOY PANTIES AND DEAL WITH IT!!!! This is my fic and I am entitled to do what I want. If you don't like it then feel free to close the page. But don't come bitching to me about "how could you do that? oh my god what the hell are you thinking?" blah blah blah

*** 

_And we all know how to fake it baby_

_And all we know is gone_

_We must be killers_

_Children of the wild ones_

****

 

Vanessa closes the door to the nurse’s office. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Stiles fidgeting with the edge of the bed sheet before stilling himself and lacing his fingers together.

There’s a lot you can learn from studying an individual’s body language. Her “over 300 hours of field work” have taught her that. No matter how good someone is at making themself appear one way to the outside world, if you pay close enough attention you can always see the truth. Humans don’t have the ability to truly hide themselves. We just aren’t made that way.

She traces a pattern over the glass pane of the door with a fingertip before moving back towards the teen lying on the bed.

He stares at her intently through long, thick lashes but doesn’t speak and she remembers the last time they were like this. The place was different though: her office, and there was a table separating them. Now it’s less than a metre of space between the edge of the bed and the chair she’s sitting in, legs crossed, arms loosely folded. His eyes tell her everything she already knows. They gave him away then too. He’s never been a good liar but he spoke to her like they were equals that day; his voice never wavered once. It was like he believed the lies he told her but they both knew better, and he’s never been the same since.

She’s noticed though, paid attention when no one else thought to look, and she knows. But she won’t say anything just yet. He has to be the one. Or else this won’t work. He has to make the first move. She’s not a chess champion for nothing either.

Stiles raises a questioning eyebrow after a good few moments of silence.

“Aren’t you gonna say something?”

“Do you want me to say something?”

“I may have a slight concussion but I’m not stupid. We both know this isn’t about what I want,” he scoffs.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Never said I wanted you to say anything...”

“What do you want then?”

He shoots her a wry smile, “Are we really going to do this again?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you think I mean?”

It’s her turn to smile. He’s smarter than anyone ever gives him credit for but she already knows that so she isn't surprised.

“Touché,” she concedes, “but if I’m going to help you, you need to tell me, because I can infer a number of things and not of all them will be to your liking.”

“When is anything ever to my liking?”

It’s like a game of cat and mouse, or tag, or tennis. They’re like the opposite panel ends of a grandfather clock, their words swinging back and forth like a pendulum in the space between his bed and her chair. But it’s a game she’s well versed in.

“When you set the terms of engagement...” and she purposely lets the sentence hang right there.

Stiles' eyes take on a different hue when his demeanour changes. It’s only up close that it’s so noticeable because his eyes are like big, expressive windows that still show up what's in their depths, even when the blinds are shut.

“I didn’t fucking ask for any of this,” he spits out, and Vanessa knows what happens now is very crucial.

If she doesn’t play this right, maintain just the right amount of balance, he will close up and this will all be for naught. And she really isn’t up for seducing an eighteen year old boy into telling her what she needs to know. She doubts Stiles would fall for that anyways. He’s cunningly intelligent for his age. Maybe if things were different...

“They just show up out of nowhere and throw me around like I’m some fucking chew toy. And then she has the audacity to accuse me of killing him...as if that justifies almost killing me...” and he cuts off again.

A muscle twitches in his jaw, the veins in his neck bulging against his skin...

She runs her tongue over her teeth. Now is not the time – she has to remind herself of this. It’s no wonder she’s heard what she has. Deaton was right. How Hale dealt with it (or didn’t deal with it if you want to be technical) is impressive.

“I stayed away. I kept away from them on purpose,”

She knows this and has known it since he started cutting the pack off. Teenagers are very similar to various species of animals in terms of their behaviours. The way they interact with their peers, the social hierarchy of things, it’s all very Animal Kingdom. It wasn’t that hard to notice though, because as much as Stiles thinks no one notices him, everyone noticed when he started spending less time with Scott, with Lydia, when he left the team, when his voice wasn’t audible anywhere except in classes and then only to answer if spoken to. His teachers noticed the change as well but most of them shrugged it off as him finally taking school seriously. Then again they are all mostly idiots, especially that fool Harris.

Vanessa is the only one that knows better.

Sometimes it’s difficult to separate the persona she has to portray as guidance counsellor and her true self. For some reason, he makes the lines blur. Sometimes he almost makes her forget who and what she is and the role she has to maintain. It would be so easy, to just let it slip for a moment. To reach out to him. That’s all it would take, and he would do the same in return. They are a lot alike after all, but he doesn’t know that because she will never tell.

“But that hasn’t worked out the way you thought it would because they’ve only kept the distance for so long and now they’re not anymore,” she pre-empts to give the illusion of participation.

It wouldn’t do well on her part to let him know she’s been introspecting while he’s actually telling the truth for a change.

“No. They’re not.”

And that’s all he volunteers. There’s more that he’s not saying but she knows how to get around that.

“Stiles, it’s been over six months, since you left the pack...”

“Nine actually,” he interjects, earning a strange smile from her.

“...but who’s counting right?” she finishes.

Now he’s smiling.

“Why then?” and she doesn’t need to state it any simpler than that because he knows exactly what she means.

“I’m only eighteen,” like that explains everything, which it sort of does but this is grown-up conversation, where full sentences are required, and he agreed to the terms when she closed the door: he didn’t try to leave.

She doesn't respond but simply waits. He's been around the wolves for almost two full years. That's more than enough time to decipher their various types of body language and in some ways hers is similar, so she waits.

“I'm only eighteen. I've been with them since I was sixteen. I wasn't about to spend the rest of my life lying to my Dad. I don't even know how I kept it up for so long without him arresting me or throwing me out,” he's not looking at her anymore.

His eyes are focused on some spot on the floor and his gaze almost looks vacant, like he's lost in his thoughts and his body's on auto-respond. A sort of strangled, desperate laugh escapes him,

“I really don't know how or why he puts up with me. I would have kicked my ass at least but my Dad he...he just...I broke him once. That night he came home after they fired him. I could see it in his eyes when he looked at me...Do you know what that's like? Seeing the one person in the world that you love more than your own life looking at you like they're beyond broken and don't know why but they know that you're responsible in some way?”

She quickly weighs the pros and cons of answering him honestly as opposed to lying or just not answering at all. Or maybe she could use his trademark tactic and deflect altogether. He saves her the trouble though because he continues speaking.

“I knew he knew I'd been lying to him all that time. He'd be stupid to think otherwise, and if its one thing he's not, it’s stupid. He just looked so tired, and disappointed...in me. And still I didn't stop, because the _fucking_ _pack_...”

There's so much venom in his voice.

Just thinking about it makes him so mad that he doesn't know what to do with himself. His hands start shaking and the twitch in his neck is more palpable. God he hates them for fucking everything up: his life, his Dad, the town, himself. He hates how much they've changed him, how much he let them change him. His fingers curl into tight fists, knuckles turning white as he speaks because he's digging them as hard as he can into his palms. If he doesn't channel the anger into himself he'll probably throw something or break the chair she's sitting on. He'll just...

God.

He sighs heavily and runs a hand over his face.

“....the fucking pack just took preference over everything else, like they had the right to do it. Like they had the right to do whatever the fuck they wanted to whoever they wanted whenever they wanted. And I...I just...I had enough. My Dad is all I have left. Yes the pack meant something to me, Scott was my fucking brother, but my Dad is my pack. He's the only pack that matters. And I was losing him.”

The unspoken _I already lost my Mom and I couldn't lose him too_ remains unspoken but that old pain resurfaces in his eyes and sees it, clawing over the fading light that used to spark in them. It doesn’t look like he knows that. He can’t see himself after all. Only she can.

“Helping them...saving them...protecting them, meant lying to him, hurting him, losing him; I'm not giving my Dad up for anyone. Not even Scott. So I gave them up.”

Stiles falls silent again. Vanessa can hear the uneven pattern of his breathing, sees when he closes his eyes and tries to calm himself down. After the third deep breath he reopens his eyes and his stare is steady, intense. The brown of his eyes is brilliant amber now, burning with emotion. She sees his appeal. Hale is a fool, but that is a conversation for another time.

“Doesn't seem like they're too happy about it though,” she comments and he knows she's referring to the Erica incident.

He shrugs.

"He came to me and I turned him away. Why he chose to after all this time is beyond me but it's not my concern anymore. Hasn't been for the past nine months..."

"Except that now it is when they're attacking you so blatantly in broad daylight with hundreds of witnesses present..."

The teen studies her a moment before he responds.

"Erica's _fond_ of her Alpha, to say the least. That clouds her judgment and makes her even more rash and impulsive...and misguided,” he adds on as an afterthought.

“Because she accused you of killing him.”

“Actually I defied him, threatened him, turned him away and then almost killed him. Well according to her anyways, but seeing as there was a solid wall, a window and wolfsbane between us, I'm pretty sure there was no killing of any kind. Well not on my part at least. And since I'm not an alpha of any kind either, it's safe to say he's still alive and kicking, unfortunately for the rest of us.”

There's such a grim expression on his face now that she finds herself reaching across to touch his hand. He stills at the contact, staring at her like she's grown a third head or something. His eyes flicker down to her hand over his, to the fingers that are rubbing soothingly over his knuckles. And then she's up and out of her chair, lips pressing against his with enough pressure for him to know that it's genuine, her other hand coming up to cup the back of his neck.

Saying that Stiles in shock right now would be the understatement of the century and that is no exaggeration because holy fucking hell Ms. Morell is kissing him, really kissing him. It's safe to say his brain has just officially been fried because in what parallel universe or alternate reality does this happen? However, as slow as his brain is in processing this, his body is reacting much faster because his fingers are curling around hers and he's pressing up into the kiss. Tiny sparks actually skitter around in his stomach as she shudders out a breath when his free arm comes up around her waist and tightens its hold.

It's fucking bizarre. There’s no other word to describe it. But she's soft and strong at the same time, and this is so wrong but just right in this moment. How old is she even again? She doesn't look old. She could be just a few years older than him. He doesn't care though because she feels and tastes like exactly what he needs and so he takes it.

Somewhere at the back of her mind Vanessa knows she shouldn't be doing this. That so many lines have just been crossed, so many rules broken. She knows she shouldn't have kissed him, but he just...and she just...and now it's just... There'll be hell to pay for this but she's been through worse and if there's one thing she knows it’s that you keep going. Stopping causes more damage. Leaves more regret. She’s had a lifetime of that and wants something different for a change.

He's fully upright on the bed now. Her hands have moved up to his shoulders and both his arms are wrapped around her tiny waist. She's petite he thinks is the term but she's also very sure, and just as hungry as he is. Somehow she ends up in his lap, legs hitched on either side of him, skirt pushed dangerously high up her thighs. Then his lips are on her neck and she's gasping into his ear sending electricity straight down to his groin. Stiles slips a hand under her shirt feeling the curve of her spine as she arches up against him (because her neck is her weak spot), her fingertips brushing through the hair at his nape. She stutters out another gasp because his hands are so hot on her skin and she wants to just throw everything out the window and take this. For herself, for him, just so they can both feel one thing that is real, one thing that is true.

She rocks against him because she wants to be so much closer than they are right now, so much closer. And again and again and again until her breasts are painfully sensitive in the cups of her bra and an intense tingling starts between her legs.

"Stilesss..." she whispers, drawing out the ‘s’ because fuck it’s so good and she hasn’t lost control in a long time; she couldn’t afford to.

But he already knows because she feels fingers pulling down the zipper of her skirt so that he can bunch it up around her waist and get to the rest of her. She's wearing red lace and he thinks it's unfair that all of this has been hidden under there all this time and he didn't know. Well he never had reason to ever think about that before but whatever. He does now. A hand gently glides up the side of her thigh, revelling in the smoothness of the skin there before moving around to the back and cupping the curve of her bottom. Vanessa moans in response and arches again, grinding down on him. Stiles jerks into her. He's already pretty hard and slips a hand inside those wicked red panties to get to full mast.

She's nothing but buttery smoothness everywhere he touches and between her legs is no different. He swipes his thumb up and over and elicits a loud moan from her parted lips. Her nails dig into his collarbone, hips rocking into the motion of his hand. There's a lewd grin on Stiles’ face as he imagines the expression on Harris' face if he happened to walk in right now. It turns positively filthy when he slips the first finger into her, simultaneously rubbing her clit with his thumb.

Ms. Morell (because referring to her like that makes it so much dirtier and he’s totally into that) groans in pleasure and her hips buck up hard. He slides it around inside her, making a circle with the tip and she clenches onto it. He works up a slow, steady rhythm, wanting her weeping by the time he's done. After a few minutes of this he’s pushing a second finger into her and feels as she stretches around him to accommodate the increase in width. She's looks him dead in the eye as he begins thrusting his fingers, slowly at first. Then faster and faster and she's rocking and bouncing and matching every single one. They never break eye contact once. Her clit swells and swells and throbs and throbs under his ministrations and she's breathing hard and heavy just like him but they don’t stop. Stiles keeps rubbing, enjoying the feel of her flesh pulsing under his touch and tightening around his fingers. He’s sure she’s close because her bottom lip is caught between her teeth as she tries but fails to stifle her breathy gasps, there’s a vein pulsing in her neck (that he licks on purpose), and her nails are clenching his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. Suddenly he gives a particularly vicious thrust of his hand, curling his fingers upwards and the orgasm takes her, loudly. She’s arching so far back he swears she'll snap her spine but that doesn't happen. She squeezes her walls tight around his fingers to keep him inside her and slumps forward, chest heaving, body shaking, fingers trembling in his t-shirt, and feeling ridiculously relaxed.

Vanessa smiles into the curve of his neck after she’s recovered. He's still hard under her (maybe he’s an exception amongst teenage boys) and that is excellent because that means this will last longer. She eventually releases his fingers and the feel of them sliding out of her and over her stomach is an incredible turn on. It’s like she's sixteen all over again and experiencing sex for the first time.  She mouths hot, wet kisses on his collarbone and it's Stiles’ turn to shiver. Then she bites down and he twitches noticeably drawing out a breathy giggle from her to which he responds by pinching her left ass cheek. This dynamic they have is strange but it’s working for them so far and neither questions the other.

Then slender hands are reaching for his belt buckle, opening his zipper and wrapping around the hard length trapped inside. For a teenager he's bigger and longer and thicker than she expected. But it doesn't matter because she's stroking him, fast, up and down, then circling his head,  sliding her thumb back and forth over the slit of the tip until precum starts oozing out. She smears that all over him and it adds to the slip and slide motions she's making and he feels the tightening deep in his gut. Then without warning she reaches down, pulls her panties to the side and rubs his dripping head against the slit of her folds. They gasp into each other's mouths as he leans in to kiss her at the exact same moment. She shifts slightly as Stiles pulls her leg up so he can free it from her underwear. Then he does the same with the other so that she's completely bared to him now.

Her shirt is halfway unbuttoned (he was in a rush and couldn’t be bothered to undo them all) and pulled part way down her shoulders so that only her bra is exposed, the straps pushed down her arms, her breasts bared to him. They’re a velvety brown color with dusty chocolate nipples that are hard and sticking straight out because she's so aroused. Her wetness is sliding back and forth over his hardness making her nipples even more pointed and sensitive and he sucks one into his mouth and nips with his teeth because they're too inviting to leave alone and who told them to stare at him like that anyways?

The occupation of his mouth distracts him from the exact moment she takes him inside her and then she’s rocking. Slow and steady like they’ve got all the time in the world. What time is it even anyways? He doesn’t have a clue. She strips his t-shirt off of him, pulls it over his head and now they’re chest to chest with no barriers; Stiles like the contrast of her darker skin against his lighter tone. Vanessa pulls him closer, arms wrapped around his shoulders, his head buried against her neck, lips caressing the curves of her breasts. One of his hands is splayed out on her lower back and the other has a firm grip on her thigh. She’s got no problem with doing all the work. This position is best for that after all.

Stiles is trying not to think while he’s having what probably is the best sex of his life so far but he can’t help it. His thoughts are only of her though so it’s all good. She really knows what she’s doing...well no shit Sherlock, duh. And he hasn’t embarrassed himself so far so he thanks all the deities he can think of for that small mercy. His life hasn’t exactly been filled with mercy so he’s pretty fucking thankful right now. And _god_ the feel of her soft, wet, warmth around his shaft is amazing, like eyes-rolling-in-the-back-of-your-head amazing. She speeds up the rhythm now and _oh my god_ he groans out, hard, like he’s never been ridden before (what? He has too!) and he really wants this to last...long enough to not shame himself and if he's held out this long then dammit he will last some more.

Both of them are breathing so heavy it’s like the oxygen between them is just evaporating. Everything is pulsing and racing and hot and wet and throbbing and Stiles just wants to...but then Vanessa is moaning, and it’s the most breathy, delicious sound he’s ever heard in his life.

“Do that again,” she whispers against his hair.

God now he’s trying to remember what he just did...who the fuck can think, much less remember anything during sex? Then he’s stroking the patch of skin at the base of her spine, just above the cleft of her bottom, swirling the blunt ends of his nails over it in circles and he feels a shudder run through her and her thighs tighten around him, pulling them impossibly closer. Which in turn causes the points of her nipples to skate up and down against his own, creating a torturous friction and making his balls tighten to the point that his vision’s starting to blur. Tiny beads of sweat are coating his abdomen and her stomach and fuck, everything about this is making him so ridiculously...fuck he can’t even find the words to describe it. Just chants _fuck fuck fuck_ over and over into her mouth, against her neck, into her collarbone, sinks his teeth into it and revels in the jerk she makes. Ha she didn’t expect that.

Stiles moves a hand around to her front and slips it between them. He feels her stomach slapping against his palm as she rides him. He goes lower still until his fingers locate that tiny, pink nub of flesh, that wondrous bundle of nerves, and strokes. Her breath catches in her chest at the addition of that sensation, at the burn the rhythm of his caresses fires in her womb. His fingers are deadly, long and not too thick but just right, like a pianist's and they massasge her clit in time to her thrusts. It slams into her like a freight train and then she’s making noises _huh uh uh uh,_ kind of like the ones you hear a girl making in a porno but hers are real, not rehearsed. Vanessa's eyelids are fluttering like crazy as she throws her head back, fingernails digging into the skin of his biceps, and comes in a burst of blazing white heat with a loud scream.

It’s not gentle. She feels her strength give out, bones melting, thighs quivering, as her entire body quakes with the force of her orgasm. The wave takes her up, high, hangs her on the crest and then slams down over her. Stiles takes her mouth in a swift, deep kiss and swallows her scream. She can’t stop shivering in his arms and they’re strong and firm around her, not letting go. She can feel the perspiration beading at her temples, sliding down her spine to meet the hand that’s sliding up it, stopping to grip at her shoulder because now he’s coming. She feels when he swells to his peak, the veins along his length pulsing furiously against her inner walls. Then she’s holding him and they’re both hanging on to each other as he follows her over the same edge. Whispers of nothing in particular floating into his ear from her sinful mouth, those lush plump lips, and Stiles releases, and releases and releases. A few more ~~shallow~~ , ragged upward thrusts and he's finally empty, their juices comingling and running down the insides her thighs onto the tops of his. There's a kaleidoscope of spots dancing across his vision and he sort of slumps forward against her, heart racing in his chest, legs still shaking in the aftermath of his orgasm and he feels like a mass of jello, blubbery and boneless.

The bell rings and they don't move.


	6. Filling That Space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first, thanks to all the reviews and kudos and hits this has been getting. I'm really happy that people were okay with the last chapter, some weirded out but hey so was I when I originally wrote it. Figures my longest chapter to date would be about sex xD
> 
> A bit of Isaac pov and then Scott pov in this one. It's not filler but it is necessary. Derek's up next chapter so you'll get your taste of Hale soon enough (and some Stiles as well).

***

_Where we got left to run_

_Killer, killer, killer_

****

 To say Derek is furious is putting it lightly.

It’s a touch more than livid, but not...oh who’s Isaac kidding? The guy is enraged, eyes bleeding red like nobody’s business.

He nearly half murders Erica when she comes back from school wreaking of Stiles, corners her by the stack of old crates and wraps a hand around her neck, squeezing until she's practically limp. He and Boyd use every single scrap of strength they have to get Derek to let go of her. What's a pair of betas to the strength of an Alpha? Her body drops to the dusty floor like a lead weight, the sound echoing in the stillness of the warehouse. And that's when Derek finally snaps out the rage-induced haze he's in.

He blinks once, twice, expression morphing into a cross between confusion, horror and something else that Issac can't identify. He suddenly looks awkward, like he's uncomfortable about the fact that he just lost control and tried to kill one of his betas. Isaac almost expects a stuttered, shaky _I didn't mean to, I swear_ but of course, that doesn't happen because it's Derek and Derek doesn't do or say things like that. Scott yeah, but Derek, no.

In the year and three quarters that Isaac's been a wolf he's learned a few things about their Alpha: 1) the guy is all hard planes, hard angles, hard everything. There's no easing into this life. They learn by trial and error, the hard knocks way, the you-gotta-burn-to-learn way. The  I'm-gonna-break-your-arm-six-times-in-a-row-for-you-to-figure-out-faster-ways-to-heal-every-time way. Derek never coddles them. Ever. And Isaac's had more of those sessions than the rest of the pack. He still doesn't know if it's because Derek thinks he's the weakest or if it's because he knows Isaac can take it, can take more than Boyd or Erica. Either way, he's had his arm broken more times than he can count or would like to remember.

2) A leather jacket and the right facial expression will get you into pretty much any party, club, or sorority/frat house. Isaac now knows every single place within a hundred mile radius of Beacon Hills that's worth going to Monday to Sunday. Name the place and he knows the best time to be there. He knows where to get free drinks, where they never ask for Id, where the girls are the easiest (if that's your thing), where the boys are more than willing to bend over for you (literally), where the best eating is, and where (if you just want to be a faceless face) you can disappear into the crowd and no one will ever know who you are or that you were there. It's safe to say Isaac is fully versed in entertaining himself, and whoever's with him, when Erica decides she isn't going to be an overprotective maniac and scare people away from him that is.

3) Stiles is a touchy subject for Derek and unless you wanna be strung up by your insides on a live electrical wire while he slowly peels you apart, don't mention him ever. The wounds he inflicted on the younger Hale are still open and raw. They haven't healed yet.

They aren't healing.

Isaac's not stupid. He's had enough time to observe them, back when Stiles was still around. The best he can describe it is that bit from Twilight, where Bella's mom tells her that she and Edward move like the earth rotating around the sun, always in each others space. He's always thought of Derek and Stiles as planets, constantly orbiting each other, inescapably linked by some invisible gravitational force pulling them together time and time again. He doubts they even realized it.

Well maybe Derek did. Those looks he'd give Stiles, like he thought no one else could or would notice the slight softening of his eyes when he spoke to him. Or the way his gaze would eventually settle on Stiles after making sure everyone was present for pack meetings. Or the fact that there were _always_ curly fries waiting to be eaten at the end of said meetings that the rest of them intuitively never ate because they all knew those were for Stiles alone. Heck, even Erica would faster get off her prissy ass and go hunt down a rabbit no matter how hungry she was. No one wanted to pull a Boyd and unknowingly eat the curly fries only to have Derek tear into them two days later during training without warning. And of course, Stiles had to be the one to put it together that Boyd and the curly fries were related. Derek's never forgiven him for that.

Now it's all taboo. Another one of the things they don't talk about in or out of Derek's presence. Not since Stiles left them. Since he irreparably broke the pack apart and left them in shambles to flounder about like dying fish gasping for air where they used to gasp for his water before. Isaac's come to appreciate just how important Stiles ~~is~~ was to their pack. To his life. To him. Even if he never comes back, just knowing why he had abandoned them in the first place would make it hurt less. Pain's easier to handle when you can direct yourself through the maze rather than be forced to stumble around blindly, bashing your feet everywhere you turn. He doesn't like being lost in his pain. It’s a hard thing to come out of. It makes him feel like he's drowning even though he knows how to swim and there are life jackets all around waiting for him to need one.

It makes him angry too, but not as angry as Erica though, because he thinks he understands why a little. He's been around Scott long enough to let his big heart rub off on him so he kind of gets it: if he had a dad like the Sheriff he'd do his damnedest to protect that too. But Isaac wouldn't cut off all the other people who loved him just as much. And that's why he's angry.

He thought Stiles loved them.

Loved him.

Then again, Isaac is no expert on what love is.

 

***

Scott's nervous. Okay not nervous, more like on edge, slightly on edge. He can’t explain it but there’s this lingering sensation in the air like something big is happening or about to happen and when he finds out it’s going to be like scarring for life or something. Can they even do that? Be scarred for life? Supernatural healing would kinda cancel that out right?

Sometimes he finds himself trying to stifle this nervous whine that's forever trying to force itself up and out of his throat because his wolf senses the unease inside of him. It knows something isn't quite right and that foreboding makes it want to jump right out of his skin. And he doesn't know who to talk to about it.

Derek's too busy dealing with his own crap too volunteer anything useful when he does ask. Deaton gives him some cryptic fortune cookie quote that he can't make heads or tails of. Allison isn't an option either because this is a wolf thing specific to him and, while she knows Scott like no one else does except for his mom, only Stiles knew how to help with stuff like this. But he might as well choose a random stranger off the street for his new best friend because that Stiles doesn't exist anymore. Only in the dreams where he watches Scott die and doesn't do a thing to save him. The ones where Scott's always jolted awake by his own screams, drenched in a cold sweat and shaking all over while his wolf howls and howls like its dying inside.

Then he runs.

Sometimes he finds himself two or three towns over with no memory of how he got there. He just wakes up, covered in dirt and leaves, a distant ache in his muscles the only reminder of just how far he's run. But the emptiness is still there. And his wolf still mourns. For the brother it no longer has.

Then, like a ray of sunlight that suddenly bursts through a soggy grey sky, Isaac's there. Holding him, picking the leaves out of his hair, taking the pain away. Or at least leeching out as much of it as Scott will let him take before he pushes Isaac away to stop him from passing out like he did the first time he tried. Come to think of it, Isaac's been there for him a lot lately. He actually needs more than two hands to count the number of times he and Isaac have found themselves turning to each other for comfort.

The connection with Isaac is different to the rest of the pack. Deeper than anything else he's got, even with Allison. He doesn't know how or why but they always find each other at those exact moments, when the grief is too much, when the sorrow becomes suffocating. It's like they just know when the other is in need and something draws them to wherever that might be, no matter how far away. And if he happened to kiss Isaac that one time in the forest outside Beacon Hills two months after Stiles cut him off well, they haven't spoken of it since then and Isaac still comes to him so it's okay.

He just couldn't help himself then. It seemed so right at the time. And he can't help it now if sometimes he remembers what it felt like to kiss Isaac. What his lips felt like against Scott's, their shape, the taste...everything. And that confuses him a lot because he loves Allison. He loves being with her. But he's beginning to think that maybe he loves Isaac too. And that frightens him because aren't you supposed to fall in love with only one person? Or is it his wolf that's in love with Isaac? But he thought his wolf was in love with Allison.

Scott shakes his head in an attempt to clear the looming confusion. A knock sounds on his window but he already knows who it is. Isaac slips a long leg through his window and then all six-feet-something of him is standing there staring at Scott a little uncomfortably. Or maybe unsurely, like he's not sure if it's okay to be there.

The funny thing about that is the whole pack's welcome in his home. His mom was okay with it too after she got used to the whole werewolf thing. He's never been so grateful to her in his life when she took the first step and invited the pack over. Granted it took them a lot of work to get where they are packwise today, although the signs are there that they're on the verge of combustion thanks to the divisions in the ranks since Stiles.

"Are you okay?" Isaac blurts out finally.

Scott does that cute face scrunch thing of his and shrugs.

"Honest answer?"

Suddenly Isaac is barely two inches away and he doesn't even have to lean in and inhale. Scott's heart has a certain rhythm when he's thinking about Stiles, thump thump uptick, thump thump uptick, and it gets progressively faster because distress always follows. He won't let Scott know that he was ten blocks away when he heard the change in the beat. Won't let him know that he started running immediately. He didn’t even realise himself until he was climbing through the pseudo-alpha’s window, so how can he tell him? 

Scott doesn't ask though. He simply closes the distance between, leaning his forehead against the side of Isaac's chin because Isaac's half a head taller than him though their heights have never made for a problem. He inhales the taller boy’s scent, the comfort he exudes, and exhales a fifth of his misery into his collarbone.

"You always find me..." the whisper just sort of escapes him before it even registers that he's said it.

He didn't mean to say that. Not yet.

Isaac's heart stills for a few seconds and then he's lowering his head to look Scott in the eye,

_"You_ always find me..." he whispers in return.

It's bloody confusing to Scott why his blood starts racing at that: the sound of Isaac's voice reduced to a low breathy timbre. The rumbles from the taller boy's chest vibrate through his own and their breathimg syncs. His pulse is pounding so loud in his ears that it blocks out the sound of Isaac's own erratic heartbeat. Their breaths merge in the diminishing space between their mouths and Scott gives in again.

The kiss is gentle like that first time in the woods. It's a soft press of his lips to Isaac's, tentative even, like he's never done it before. And Issac responds, equally tender, slanting his lips to fit Scott's, to fit against the curve of his mouth. The pressure increases and then Scott's licking into Isaac's mouth, tongue slipping out to tease the seam of the beta's lips. He feels Isaac smile and then open up to him, the kiss deepening in a way it didn't before. It's a maddeningly heady sensation that’s making his fingers tremble with a want he didn't know he had.

Their fingers find each other and entwine, locked like anchors to keep them in place because if they let go, if they stop for even a second, whatever this is between them will...Scott doesn’t want to think about what could happen so he keeps holding on to Isaac.

It’s not that Isaac is a replacement for Stiles, or even for Allison. He still has Allison, hopefully for forever. The thought has a dopey grin spreading across his face. But in the wake of Stiles' stinging absence, Isaac’s presence, Isaac’s company, is a lifeline. It’s something tangible to grasp on to, to remind him that he can make it despite everything that’s happened. What Isaac has become to him within these past few months is something Scott doesn't want to give up. He doesn't want to share it with anyone either. This is his alone to have. What Allison gives him is completely different. But this, this quiet he feels, it flows through his veins till it's everywhere, filling all his empty spaces and coming out his fingertips. Fingertips that are currently ghosting up the sides of Isaac's torso and latching onto his jacket, grounding himself even further in the young wolf.

Something about Isaac silences his turmoil, his kisses quell Scott's unease, his touch settles the tempest that rages sometimes and for now that's all he wants. Because Scott is a simple boy and with Isaac it's just that: simple. So they continue to kiss until they're not kissing anymore but nipping and biting and sucking and scraping teeth against skin and layers are being shed all over his bedroom floor.

Then they're skin on skin and Scott can't breathe because Isaac's thumbing his nipple and biting down on his neck and his hips twitch upwards of their own volition. And Isaac's smiling like a smarmy bastard and licks the shell of his ear and he whines and digs his fingers into the wolf's hip where his jeans have been pushed down slightly so Scott can feel the cut of his hipbone. And it feels so right with Isaac and so not like Allison and oh god what would Stiles think if he knew?


	7. Mary's in India

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally the next chapter is here. I think I told someone it would have been up yesterday but I was at work and one thing after another and I didn't so I'm posting now before I forget again and go home.
> 
> Derek pov and Stilinski father/son time :D
> 
> Yeah you love me, i know. ENJOY!
> 
>  
> 
> OH OH OH
> 
> P.S. MAKE SURE TO VOTE TODAY KIDS IN AMERICA because I'm not American so I can't.
> 
> ALSO PSA:  
> Don't post pics of your ballot because that can Get your phone confiscated, Get you charged with a misdemeanor, and also Get you charged with a felony (with a penalty of no more than 18 months in prison and/or a fine of no more than $10,000)
> 
> Go to: http://www.citmedialaw.org/state-law-documenting-vote-2012 and look up the laws in your state. Taking a photo of your ballot will not invalidate your vote, but it may carry other severe penalties.

***

 Danny is lonely 'cause Mary's in India now  
She said she'd call but that was three weeks ago  
She left all her things well, her books and her letters from him  
And as the sun rises on Mary it sets on him  
  
Danny's not eating, he's drinking and sleeping in  
I saw him last night at a party, he's definitely thin  
He says he's happy, he looked pretty good but I think  
That as the sun rises on Mary, it sets on him 

***

Derek’s having a hard time keeping his shit together. He goes for an extended run, until the desire to kill Erica is eighty-five percent out of his system.

She was fucking covered in _his_ scent.

 _Jesus_.

His wolf baying for bloody murder, if Isaac and Boyd hadn’t tried to restrain him, he probably would have snapped her neck. Or probably both her arms. Smashed them up so good it’d take four times as long to heal. That would teach her not to touch what was...

Not to touch what was what exactly?

How did he plan on finishing that sentence?

He’s not as fucking stupid or emotionally stunted as everyone thinks he is. He knows he’s been affected more than he lets on, not that he lets anything on to the pack to begin with, but everyone knows that Derek’s never been one for sharing his feelings after all. But they bother him, and have been bothering him more so now especially since that night. He can’t forget, he always remembers especially when he closes his eyes and everything goes dark. Because that’s where it happened: in the dark, so he doesn’t sleep.

He can’t.

If he does he’ll see Stiles, staring at him cold and impassive, face like stone, ripping his heart out and stabbing it over and over with a knife drenched in wolfsbane. That’s definitely not what he wants to be thinking about right now. That trend of thought doesn’t bring out the best in him.

Ever.

The pack was furious. Well Erica mainly. Derek had managed to reach the edge of the woods and call Boyd before passing out. When he came to, it was two days later, Erica was bordering on manic and Isaac was paler than he’d ever seen him, sweating on the chair next to the couch where he was. Even with two days of being in a comatose state, after having bled out to within an inch of his life, he still wasn’t back to normal (for a were) when he should have been fully healed. Even with two days of Isaac’s healing. Everywhere still sore and aching, it felt like he’d been repeatedly smashed with a ten ton iron mallet all over his body.

He doesn’t remember passing out after that. Isaac says he did. Erica was shrieking to the high heavens and Boyd was on the verge of losing his cool because of her, pack bond aside. But when he woke up again, seven and a half hours later mind you, Erica was coming through the back doorway reeking of Stiles and Derek just lost it. Still in a semi-unhealed state and not fully in control of his senses he grabbed her and started slamming her into the nearest solid surface. He was functioning solely on baser instincts that told him she’d committed some atrocity against him and needed to be punished accordingly. So he did, without knowing why he was suddenly filled with this blinding rage and overwhelming desire to kill her. He must have bashed her into that wall at least ten times, hard enough to leave an Erica-sized dent permanently in the metal. And god help him, he felt like such a monster when Isaac and Boyd finally pried his claws off and out of her. The smell of her blood, thick and metallic in the air, mixed with the smell of Stiles finally yanked him out of the haze he was in and he turned and just ran, right out of there.

Derek ran and ran until he was at the border between Beacon Hills and the next neighbouring town, pacing the invisible boundary like a caged lion, wondering if it was worth crossing into territory that wasn’t his just to get away from it all. After deciding it wasn’t, he turned around and wandered into the woods, deep into the heart of it where even the BHSD didn’t go when there were search parties.

Therefore when the sky turns black and the sun disappears Derek doesn’t know because he’s lost. In his thoughts, in his memories, in his misery. Every waking hour, every second of the night he’s haunted.

Why did he do it?

He should have known Stiles wouldn’t help him. The kid had been cutting himself off from the pack for months. And they’d given him the space that he hadn’t verbally asked for. Derek let him keep them away thinking it would help him solve whatever he was going through. People usually wanted and needed space when they had shit to sort through. Derek is no expert so how was he supposed to know it was the exact opposite? Fuck he was so stupid. How did he not see this coming? The excuses, the absences, everything.

Looking back, he thinks maybe he did but didn’t want to acknowledge it. Didn’t want to consider the possibility that the pack might not be as important to Stiles anymore. That they were the reason for whatever internal demons he was fighting. That he didn’t want Derek anymore, that he was happier without him. Because Derek sure as fuck hasn’t been happier since the blackhole the teen left swallowed his sanity and control. The pack literally crumbled when it finally sunk in that Stiles had cut them off, amputated them from his life like a gangrenous limb threatening his health. He still remembers the day he found them all huddled together (humans included) at their spot by the cliff overlooking Beacon Hills. They never looked more like pups than at that moment. It was plain every one of them had been crying, the more resilient ones of the pack holding the less resilient ones together, cubs mourning the loss of the den mother because whether he liked the term or not that’s what the fucking idiot was to them. Hell even Derek couldn’t take care of his pack the way Stiles did. Because no one had a heart like Stiles, no one.

So Derek’s justified in hating himself for not seeing the signs sooner and doing something about it. Because if he had known what was going on with Stiles he would have tried. He would have done every fucking thing in his power to make things better for Stiles, to protect him, to not hurt him. Goddamnit didn’t he know he’d never hurt him? Ever? Didn’t he know why Derek included him in the pack? Why he always came to him for help? For anything really. Stiles was pack. Stiles equalled pack. He was worth just as much as one of the betas if not more. None of them could do what Stiles did. He was the anchor for them all. That last tie to the vestiges of their humanity that seems to fade with time. And Derek might not have ever said it but Stiles meant something to...to him.

Nothing ever hurt quite like the bond between them being torn away that night. That pain was second only to the loss of his family at the hands of Kate Argent. If only he had just called Boyd to come find him then things would have been fine. Well not fine, but not like this either. But no. His mind wanted Stiles, his brain wanted Stiles, his body said get to Stiles, and he’d been too fucking weak to ignore the old dog habit of going to Stiles despite the obvious clean break the boy thought he’d made from the wolves. And like a fool he went, once again strung along by the iota of feeling he’d allowed himself to have for him, thinking he would help, that he would save him because even if things were different he didn’t hate him. But oh how the joke was on him because it was pretty fucking obvious that Stiles hated Derek’s fucking guts, what with leaving him to die and all, telling him flat out to stay the hell away or he'd be sorry.

And just like that his anger flares again, strong and brilliant like the fire that burnt his life down, and he has to breathe and breathe and breathe or else it’ll take over and he’ll lose control and level half the reserve. But fuck everything is such a mess! A big bloody fucking mess that he can’t seem to get out of, that he can’t escape from.

For the first time in a long time Derek feels truly helpless again.

Why?

Why, why, why, why?

No matter how many times he thinks and rethinks he still can’t find an answer. He still doesn’t know. And he hates that feeling. He hates that it's affecting him this much. He hates that he can't banish it from his mind.

So he screams.

He screams to the high heavens. Loud and raw and distorted, the voice of the man and the wolf mixing into a sound he’s never made before. Like his sorrow can’t decide what it is, what its true source is. Until he can’t scream anymore.

But he’s still angry. Still furious, because where the fuck does a pathetic excuse of a human like Stiles get off telling an Alpha to stay the fuck away or die?

The sad thing is, as betrayed and enraged as he feels, Derek knows he doesn’t mean a word of it because he can’t think of Stiles like that. He could never think of Stiles like that. Not even now would he do anything to harm him, when as Alpha he’s clearly been threatened. It hurts beyond anything he’s had to deal with in a while but two years is time enough for someone to worm their way under your skin and he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t developed some sort of affection for Stiles in that time. Hell they’ve all gotten under his skin but Stiles more so than the others, and Isaac, because Derek sees in Isaac what the boy’s father stopped seeing the day his wife died.

Then he does something he hasn’t let himself do in years. Not even when he stood beside dark cherrywood and rosewood caskets that were empty on the inside because there was nothing left to put in them.

Derek cries.

Heart-wrenching, soul-breaking, tortured sobs. Until he’s weak. Until there’s nothing left to cry out of himself.

Misery can only be contained for so long before it forces itself out. When you’re human, how long it takes depends on the strength of your will. But even the strongest of humans still fall prey to their emotions eventually. And when you’re a wolf it’s worse. People think that the loss of your humanity means you don’t feel anymore. That you can shut it off. That you can make everything that weakens you stop, disappear, fade into nothingness.

They’re wrong.

It’s the exact opposite. Everything intensifies. Especially emotion. You feel more, you love harder, you hurt faster, you scar deeper. Nothing is shut off. Even the most blood-thirsty Alphas can’t turn it off. That’s why they become so vengeful and turn into true monsters, obsessed with the hunt and the kill. Because when rage and hurt and pain and despair consume you as a wolf, it’s a thousand times worse than when you’re a  human. It forces you to do or become whatever it takes just to have some semblance of control over yourself no matter how twisted it might seem on the outside. And then you're still not in control because your emotions are the reason you end up doing those things in the first place.

Emotion only stops when you are dead.

You stop feeling only when you are dead.

And Derek’s still alive, still breathing, but he’s floundering and there’s no one to pull him out. He can’t even stop his pack (meaning mainly Erica) from going on a rampage or folding in on itself. They’re already just barely keeping it together as is. He sees it, the way they’ve all become permanently rougher around the edges, the unit they built fraying at the seams for months now. And without anything to truly hold them together, save for a quickly unravelling bond as Alpha and betas at best, his wolves are liable to mutiny his ass, the remaining humans only still allied with him because of them.

It’s safe to say Derek is officially once again up shit creek sans a paddle. And the current is sweeping him away, pulling them all under with him. He wonders if they can survive.

If he will survive.

***

 

Stiles wakes up the next morning feeling strangely...relaxed. It’s like all the tension that’s been storing up in his bones is just gone. Two years worth and then some. Huh.

It’s not just the magical healing powers of sex kicking in the morning after either, though sex is a certified and proven form of stress relief. This is different. He's only had sex twice before so he’s no expert but he knows this afterglow is nothing like either of those times. It’s almost like he’s _rejuvenated_ , for lack of a better word. There’s an overall pleasant calm in his body that definitely wasn’t there yesterday. He’s not complaining though because it feels great; Ms. Morell was...is an amazing lay. A stupid grin takes over his face at the thought and then he starts smiling so hard his face hurts. Because really, who does that? Which teenager gets to totally do the deed with the hot guidance counsellor/school nurse in the Nurse's Office? It’s the stuff every high school boy’s wet dreams are made off!

His life has taken unexpected and sometimes strange turns over the course of his eighteen years. This is definitely more enjoyable unexpected than anything else. For a minute he contemplates lying in bed a little longer and reliving yesterday’s awesome _again_ but he did that already, twice. Another sated, lazy grins slips over his face. Stiles can’t help himself, he’s allowed to feel smug but let’s face it: he’s the fucking man right now!

“Yes but even _the_ _man_ can get up and brush his teeth and eat breakfast with his overworked and extremely tired but loving father - and I’m going to ignore the fact that you just said that word in front of me without remorse,” and just like that his dad is heading down the stairs to the kitchen where breakfast awaits.

Stiles blinks once, twice, and has the decency to look sheepish, _after_ his dad is gone of course. He totally did not notice him standing there. He didn’t even realise he was talking out loud...oh god what if he-did his dad hear...

“Crap!”

He rushes to get up from/off of his bed at the same time and ends up falling on the floor in an ungraceful heap of tangled limbs.

“Smooth Stiles, real smooth. How did you manage to have sex yesterday without falling off the bed?”

He brushes his teeth but doesn’t shower because dude he can smell the pancakes and bacon and toast from here and god he so loves his dad right now. He literally inhales the first pancake whole through his mouth before he’s even fully seated at the kitchen table and his dad slaps him across the back of his head.

“Jesus kid you just woke up. Let your stomach breathe before you stuff it back up again!” but it’s said with fond amusement and it hits Stiles just how much he’s missed this.

His Dad hasn't been around much recently again. From what he’s been able to glean it's nothing connected to the wolves but more random incidents in the same bracket occurring with increased frequency. They don’t talk work when they’re together though because Stiles is making a conscious effort to be different than he was, to be better to his father. It’s surprisingly easy and his Dad seems to appreciate the changes, well the ones he can detect at least. So breakfast is amiable and light and it feels like they’re okay again.

Stiles watches as three strips of bacon make their way onto his dad’s plate but doesn’t say anything because it’s only when they are both together for a meal that his dad’s allowed to ‘pig out’. He grins at the bliss that crosses the older Stilinski’s face at the taste of hot, freshly fried, crispy bacon before popping a piece of toast into his own mouth, followed by a strip of bacon and then quarter of a pancake. Halfway through chewing he chokes and starts coughing like he’s being strangled to death. Arms flail as he attempts to make the food go down and cuff himself on the chest at the same time. His dad just sits there and watches while drinking his coffee, then sighs like Stiles is the most hopeless person he’s ever seen in his life before sliding a glass of juice across the table towards him.

“ _Oh my God_ you were just gonna sit there and watch me choke to death weren’t you?” he gasps out after the orangey liquid clears his blocked esophagus.

John Stilinski shrugs noncommittally and says with what is possibly the best pokerface Stiles has ever seen on him, “I’d have saved you from yourself you know...eventually.”

Stiles has the audacity to look offended at that. His mouth opens to respond but all that comes out is something that sounds like a cross between an indignant squawk and an undignified yelp and entirely too hilarious for his Dad to maintain his straight face. John snorts into his coffee, sides shaking with badly suppressed laughter.

“You’re terrible, you know that?” the teen huffs exasperatedly, but it’s half-hearted because he’s always loved making his dad laugh.

Which, when translated, means _I love you, you know that right?_ It's funny how the randomest of moments can bring sudden crashing clarity to him, especially when he’s with his Dad. It also makes him fall silent which makes John notice. He doesn’t like when Stiles is silent because then he doesn’t know what’s going on in that head of his.

“So why are you _‘the man’_ now?” smoothly changing the topic because his dad is just that awesome.

Christ, he even makes air quotes and that’s funny all on its own because he does the classic Sheriff Stilinski frown with it, the one he usually makes when he’s about to get to the bottom of something. And oh god Stiles is so not about to tell his dad about his sex life because that-that would be...

“Um....I...”

“You....” oh crap the eyebrow just raised.

Stiles decides what the hell.

“....I had sex yesterday, like the most amazing sex ever, not that I’ve had a lot of sex with a lot of people so that’s nothing really to go on, but I did and it was amazing and awesome and I think I also might be going off the deep end a little bit?” because it’s better to just rip the band aid off all at once.

All the while that he’s been talking, his dad’s eyebrows have been going higher and higher but by the time Stiles is done he doesn’t look very surprised at all. This is not comforting in the least.

“You aren’t gonna say anything?”

“Do you want me to say something?”

Talk about deja vu.

“What do you want me to say? You’re eighteen Stiles, legally an adult, mentally I still question it sometimes, but I’m not gonna be one of those parents who tells you no you can’t have sex because let’s face it, we both know that’d never work. So am I surprised? No. Am I surprised that you actually told me the truth without first contemplating whether you should lie or not? Yes. Am I _grateful_ for your honesty? Yes.”

The way his voice softens on the _honesty_ and the accompanying _yes_ warms Stiles to the cockles of his heart and he grins happily at his dad.

“We just had a moment didn’t we?”

John just smiles as he gets up from the table and ruffles Stiles’ hair affectionately in passing before dropping his plate in the sink. That’s a _yes and I love you but we’re Stilinski men and we don’t acknowledge having moments out loud._

“I’ll do the dishes,”

That's _I love you too and I get it._

The sound of Saturday morning cartoons drifts in from the living room and it feels like old times again, like when he was a kid, back when his mom was still alive. They used to do this then too: bonding over carbs and cartoons. Oooh alliteration cool.

It’s probably fifteen minutes later when his dad’s phone rings. Bonding time is over for now.

“We’re doing a movie later, tonight, when I get back, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. That'd be great,” because it is.

Ten minutes later his dad is gone, police car pulling out of the driveway and heading down to the station. Once again he’s alone. The dishes are done and there’s not really much to put away after his Dad because he’s not a messy cook. The living room is mostly okay too: Stiles straightens a random cushion, picks up a newspaper off the floor and he’s done. The house is really empty. He doesn’t feel like watching cartoons without his dad there. Kinda defeats the whole purpose of the ritual you know?

Twenty minutes later there’s a knock on the front door and he scrambles up from the couch to see who it is. As he opens the door he wonders who on earth could possibly be-

“Heeeyy Ms. Morell...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think? I'm worried mainly about the Derek pov because I think I suck at aptly describing angst. Like I know what feeling utterly miserable is like but I think I ramble when I'm writing...kind of like right now so I'm shutting up.
> 
> Reviews/comments would be nice :)


	8. The Offer

***

We don't have to accept our challenges; we can say 'no'.

That's why when people say 'yes,' and step up to the challenge,

it becomes an amazing thing.

***

****

To say Stiles is surprised at the sight of Ms. Morell standing on his front porch on this Saturday morning, the day after they had sex, is an extreme understatement.

He is downright fucking stupefied.

Because he can't think of any reason why she would possibly be here right now. So he fumbles for something to say after that awkward greeting upon opening the door and ends up just gaping at her. Really he's totally bewildered, flabbergasted even, so it's the only facial expression he can process. Ms. Morell gives him an amused look.

"Aren't you going to invite me in Stiles?"

For a second he's reminded of a wolf in sheep's clothing knocking on little Red Riding Hood's door asking to come in in Grandma's voice.

"Invite you in?" his tone is incredulous, "What are you? A vampire or something?"

She arches an eyebrow in response but still waits.

He doesn't say anything, just steps back from the door and waits for her to enter. Vanessa doesn't move.

"Verbally invite me in Stiles," she presses again, still not moving.

He huffs a sigh before giving in to her unnecessary command.

"Come in."

He doesn't say please and doesn't acknowledge her name either. He's a natural and doesn't even know it. But that will all change soon enough.

Her fingers brush the doorway as she comes forward to step inside. They're standing in the foyer now. He makes to shove his hands in his pockets only to realise he's not wearing pants, or a shirt. Whatever. He doesn't care, besides she's seen it all bare before and this is his house so he can wear what he wants. She's the one that chose to show up here unannounced anyways.

"So to what do I owe this very, very _unexpected_ and somewhat creepy, no offense, visit?" he's not one for beating around the bush anymore.

"I came to see you," is all she says, eyes probing over him with that calculating look of hers.

Stiles isn't sure whether he should cover his chest with his arms to protect his non-existent modesty or turn away and go into the living room. He settles for snark.

"Did you get a good enough look then? Because you've been eyeballing me since you got here and while I am all kinds of sexy, we only had sex yesterday and if you're here for round three or four, while I'm not complaining, you should give a guy a little warning or heads up at least..." and he tapers off into silence as she starts moving closer towards him.

And like the five year old that he is he starts backing away from her. What the hell is this? She pauses and smirks at him like she's just discovered some secret she's been dying to know.

"You think that's why I'm here?"

"W-what?" because deep down he's still scared shitless of her, even though he's seen a softer, completely different, vulnerable even, side of her.

"You think I'm here because I want to have sex with you again?" she repeats, slower, like he's a kid with a learning disability.

"You don't want to have sex with me again?"

"Do you want me to?"

Oh fuck it's really too early in the morning for these kind of mind games and he's totally not in the mood.

"Can we not do this now? I'm still fifty percent asleep even though I'm awake, and as much as I _love_ this ever intriguing game of wits that's forever raging between us, my brain isn't equipped to deal with it so early in the morning..."

Stiles chances a look at the clock on the wall and it's saying ten thirty. So maybe it's not that early according to normal people time but it's still an hour too early according to Stiles time. Weekend duh.

"...so if you don't mind, can you just say what you came to say so that we can this over with and I can g-"

He lifts his hand to gesture for her to get on with it and what the bloody hell?

He can't move!

The fuck is this? His entire body is frozen, he can't even make his pinky finger move. And she's just standing there, staring at him. Is he in some freaky live action Harry Potter thing? Oh my god he's totally freaking out right now because this, _this_ is _not_ okay! This is terrifying beyond anything he can recall. It's like the Kanima all over again, the helplessness and fear start coming over him, oh my god is she a Kanima? Oh god did they mate yesterday and now she's pregnant? Did she come to kill him so no one will know why her freaky lizard faced baby looks like him when it's born? He doesn't want to die, not like this. He gave all this shit up when he left the wolves so why the fuck is it happening all over again? Why does stuff like this always happen to him?

Stiles feels the tightening in his chest, the shortness of his breaths, he's having a panic attack right in front of her and he can't move, can't speak, he can't do anything. He's going to die at the hands of his school guidance counsellor and no one will ever know she did it. He can't even utter a sound as he's dying; his heart is on the verge of exploding. He's vaguely aware of the clamminess in his hands or at least he figures they must be since he can't freaking feel them AT ALL! He can't even make his vocal chords work, but if he could he'd been screaming right now!

Then he's falling to the floor and gasping for breath, clutching at his chest, eyes wide and darting all over the place as he tries to contain himself. Yeah, not happening.

"Stiles! Stiles!" she's calling to him, cool hands holding his, her voice sounds so far away though.

He hears it again, louder, closer this time.

"Stiles, look at me, look at me and breathe," Vanessa puts his hand over her heart, "focus on my breathing," and she presses his hand harder against her chest, "Focus!"

He feels it: the rise and fall, finds her rhythm, feels her soothing him, feels her warmth washing over him. Slowly his heart calms down, his lungs slow to mimic hers, his chest doesn't feel like it's going to explode again. She's pulled him in close, arms wrapped around him, stroking his hair and just holds him. Whispers for him to breathe, over and over, until the panic recedes completely. Then they're just there on the floor, him still in her arms, breathing in her scent. How is this even his life?

"What-was that-just now?" when he thinks he can speak again without his voice cracking.

"Come on, let's sit down," and she helps him up and leads him to the couch.

She doesn't sit next to him though. Instead she sits across from him in the arm chair his Dad sits in sometimes. It's always like some sort of weird power play every time they interact.

"Did you just petrify me or something? I'd rather you say yes to that than finding out in ten seconds that you're a Kanima back for revenge or something!" and he's rambling because holy hell he still can't process what the fuck just happened.

"I'm not a Kanima."

That's all she says.

Stiles stares at her incredulously.

"Really? That's it? That's all you're going to say?"

"I didn't petrify you."

"You're starting to sound like-" he cuts himself off before he can even finish the thought.

She's got that look like she knows what he was going to say. Stiles tries again.

"But you did do that to me? The whole freezing-my-body-paralysis thing?"

"Yes, I did..." and Ms. Morell actually looks sort of uncomfortable when she next says, "...but I didn't mean to, about the panic attack I mean, I didn't know you'd...that that would happen."

That's the first he's ever heard or seen her look like she doesn't know how to finish a sentence. But he's got more important things to be concerned about right now.

"Next question: how the fuck did you do that?"

What? There's no way in hell you can expect him to be mindful of his mouth after something like that. Looks like he asked the right question though because she gives him a real answer. What the fuck is this, ?

"That's why I came to see you actually," and she's smiling, like he's just given her the opening she wanted.

"Oh my god you're a witch!" Stiles yelps, shooting up suddenly like he's been electrocuted, "Oh my god, you're not gonna turn me into a frog are you? Or worse a mouse! I don't wanna be a mouse!" he whines miserably.

Stiles is fully aware of how he sounds: like a lunatic, absolutely out of his mind. He doesn't care though because this is some serious magicky juju right here. This is totally different to making a mountain ash barrier around a building because _that_ was partially tangible. This is invisible and in the mind and there's no physical indicator to know shit's going down until you find yourself immobile with no control over your body. This is all kinds of scary and if he was anyone else he'd need to be carted off to the crazy house immediately. Hell, he'd make the fucking call himself to them himself!

Ms. Morell shakes her head indulgently like he's an overly imaginative child who's getting carried away. He's pretty sure she's not indulging of anyone.

"I'm not a witch Stiles,"

"But you do know how to use magic?"

"Yes."

"And do spells?"

"Yes."

He snorts.

"Then I hate to break it to you Glinda, but you're a witch. Or a wizard, if you're the type that doesn't buy into that gender specific bullshit feminists are always going on about or whatever..." it's not like he's big on sociological intricacies.

"Like I said, I'm not a witch. I just know how to do those things."

"So what, you're a 'kind of' magician then? That's even worse and really, really tacky. Totally not as badass as I thought you were Ms. M and a shame because you'd be a total bamf and all that," he's babbling god help him.

Guess that's one personality trait he'll never lose.

"Do you know why I did that to you just now Stiles?" she says, completely ignoring his ramble.

"Err...to teach me a lesson?" because it's always better to go with the I-was-wrong-and-totally-did-something-stupid angle in response to questions like that.

"Not exactly. You need to be able to protect yourself, especially from the wolves, and wolf's bane alone won't do the trick..."

"But magic will?" and he's right to sound skeptical because even he knows that magic isn't all that it's cracked up to be. There's always a price.

"It _helps_. Wicca helps, runes help, telekinesis helps, even telepathy if you're lucky. There's a myriad of things you can be taught to defend yourself from a wider array of attacks, including physical fortification-"

"You mean I can actually kick werewolf ass instead of it being the other way around all the time?"

"Yes and no."

"You know, the correct answer to that question was 'Yes'. Anything else is useless if it means I don't come out on top..."

He's aware he just made a sex pun and thankfully she didn't notice. He hopes.

"Yes you'd be able to go toe to toe with a wolf or any other supernatural creature for that matter-"

"Fucking hell there's more than just weres?"

If it was anyone else, Vanessa would be beyond aggravated at the constant interruptions, but she knows this is how he deals so she doesn't chastise him for it. Her time is limited though.

"Actually I should amend that to _most_ any other supernatural creature as there are some that only a select few of us can meet head on but that's not a conversation to be had today," because she sees the curiosity sparking in his eyes, "As I was saying before though, you'd be able to hold your own and maybe even get the upper hand depending on how good you turn out to be. Everyone's potential is different but it's still potential nonetheless, and potential is a _very powerful_ thing."

Stiles is equal parts wary as he is intrigued but he'd be lying if he said the chance to tip the scales in his favour isn't appealing in the slightest. He's already sold even if she doesn't know it yet.

"But you have to be willing, you have to want it. You have to believe," he recalls Deaton saying something similar to him too, "and you can't back out if it gets to hard. This kind of thing isn't to be entered into lightly."

Vanessa isn't trying to scare him off or frighten him but she knows what it's like. Its gruelling and demands everything you have. You can't be weak hearted. Not in this war. Their world doesn't allow it. Stiles has only been exposed to the tip of the iceberg and he didn't come out unscathed. He's different now, more resilient, and she sees it in his eyes, the hardness of his mouth, hears it in the force of his voice, felt it in the clutch of his hands. He can do it. He can be great.

He has raw, untapped potential, and with the right training he could be deadly, unstoppable even. And she wants that, for him, for her, for lots of reasons that he will come to understand later on.

"Do you want to be powerful Stiles?"

That's all he's ever wanted isn't it? To not feel helpless and afraid all the time. To not live with his mortality hanging in the balance without having an ounce of control over how long it will last. He wants to be able to protect his Dad, this town that is his home, and he doesn't want to have to give up his humanity to do it. This place is all he knows. His mother's history is here. It's all he has. Stiles isn't going sit idly by doing nothing and watch it be taken away from him, piece by piece, until nothing's left.

It's time for things to change again so there's no wavering in his voice when he says it.

"Yes."

 


	9. Something Wicked This Way Comes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the next chapter is finally here, despite having been completed more than 3 weeks now. I'm not happy with it but I couldn't come up with anything else. With the year end rush at work I've been hard pressed to brain storm better ways to introduce the badassery that's supposed to start happening. Most likely this chapter will be rewritten or replaced, once I get around to it.
> 
> As regards the spell casting, Latin and rune references, I had no time to do proper research so it's just me talking out of my ass, which is why a lot of it may sound like complete and utter bullshit to those of you that are more experienced with writing things of a magical nature. I apologize profusely in advance.
> 
> ALSO: I think I need a beta, an experienced one who can help me sort out the clutter in my brains. Interested parties can message me on my tumblr: Nixvicious or my twitter: carlobunnie.

***

“Everything that happens before Death is what counts.” – Ray Bradbury

***

 

And that’s how Stiles finds himself at her apartment every day after that, training after school. She teaches him basic Latin which, even though he gets good grades in school, is still pretty hard to master, given that the only experience he’s had with it was the Argent’s Bestiary and even then Lydia had basically done all the translating with only minor input from him here and there. Vanessa, because he can call her that now and it won’t sound weird, was right. It’s gruelling and tiresome and if he was his old self he’d have quit after two days. But he’s not his old self and he’s been labouring away at it for two weeks.

It’s actually pretty easy to determine what most Latin words mean, it’s where their English equivalents came from after all, and some roots are pretty self-explanatory. It’s like Spanish, how some of the words are easy to interpret by the way they’re spelt, but he can’t wing any of it. There’s no room for guesswork because spell casting is serious shit. One mispronounced word used out of context and you can fuck up an entire spell. Curse someone instead of blessing them, mark them instead of protecting them. There are too many ways things can go wrong and that's not a risk he’s willing to take so he makes himself learn it, every single conjugation, every last accent, where to stress, where to soften. Learns the difference in pitch and tone and the effects of intent behind a spell. Honestly it makes him feel quite stupid. All that stuff teachers insist you learn so that you can get a good job and make a better life for yourself at school can’t do diddly squat to help you save your loved ones

She teaches him the importance of runes. Now this, _this_ is something he eats up like cheese cake made out of fucking curly fries because runes are some absolutely badass shit. There’s so many of them, so many patterns, so many elements, so many combinations, and all to store power and draw on power. Fucking handy in a bind or for anything really and they’re his favourite, especially when he learns that you can tattoo them on your skin. Makes the magic stronger, easier to access because it’s right there.

“Runes can be used on any surface, they can be visible or invisible, physical or mental. Though some runes are naturally more powerful than others their _form_ does not diminish their effect. A rune literally drawn out on a piece of paper is no less powerful than one enscribed on your mental shields.”

“Is there a limit to what you can use a rune for?” he asks because his mind is already churning with all the possibilities.

“Yes and no. As with anything, a rune is only as strong or weak as the user even though it is naturally powerful. If, for example, I was terminally ill and tried to use runes to draw on magic that was stronger than the state of my body then it wouldn’t be as effective. It would put a greater strain on my mind and already weakened body and could result in my death. That’s why I told you in the beginning you have to be focused and devoted because it takes a lot out of you to use magic and if you aren’t strong it will kill you. We are simply the vessels that channel the magic but if we are cracked or poorly made then the water cannot be contained in us and the jug will shatter and the water will be wasted.”

Stiles mulls over that while she teaches him about the elements and different stones, the various minerals that can be used and where he can find them. She hasn’t started spell-casting with him as yet because she needs him to understand the foundation upon which everything is built first. According to her, when you understand where things come from and how they are made, you already possess the knowledge to take them apart and recombine them in new ways to make them better than what they originally were. And he possesses the ability to harness all of that. So Vanessa takes as much time as she can afford to to make sure his base is strongly built before she starts throwing fireballs at him. Literally.

 

***

Two weeks pass before Deaton pays her a visit. He’s waiting for her when she gets back from a session with Stiles. Sometimes they train, sometimes they have sex, sometimes it’s a combination of both. It’s a dangerous line she’s toeing and they both know it. When they’re both high off the adrenaline from training and the magic thrumming beneath their skin it’s like there’s an electricity buzzing in the air between them and neither can resist the pull. He’s a good lover despite his inexperience, a fast learner. It shows in his latent ability to master magic with ease. She finds herself feeling proud on more than one occasion.

“I don't know if I despise your sentimentality or support it,” he says by way of a greeting.

She looks at him wryly, “Who said anything about sentiment?”

“This is a dangerous gamble you’re taking but I’m not so foolish to think that you don’t already know that. What I am curious to know is how it’s turning out. Mr. Stilinski has always been _special_ amongsthis peers.”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself? You always did have a soft spot for _his_ cubs,” and she gives him a knowing look.

Deaton doesn’t even blink.

“I'm also concerned about the other aspect of this... _arrangement_.  You know if Esmira or Daniel find out things will become...troublesome.”

A frown mars Vanessa’s face. The two elders on the Council that give her the most trouble.

“You wouldn’t be mentioning them unless things already were troublesome,” she states matter-of-factly.

“They know about your _intimacy_ with him as well as the fact that you’re training a pure _Thosis_ without a Guardian or even a Watcher. We have rules about these things that even you aren’t above, no matter how _valuable_ a _Kalithanos_ you are. Even I won’t be exempt from the consequences of knowing and not reporting it.”

It’s there between them, the unasked question dangling like a noose over her head: _Why did you do it?_ Deaton would understand if she tells him. They’ve known each other long enough that she could, but honestly Vanessa’s not even sure why herself. This has all become so incredibly fucked up in such a short space of time and she can’t explain how she let it get so out of hand. It wasn’t a moment of weakness. She stopped affording herself those a long time ago. It wasn’t a lapse in judgement either. Nothing concerning Stiles has been or will ever be a mistake, at least not as concerns her. He is so much more than anyone has ever given him credit for and it was simply because she could see what others could not that she took the chance she did. She doesn’t regret it but knows that what they’ve done can’t continue as it is any longer.

“I would not put you in such a position either old friend,”

Deaton hears the steel enter her voice.

“You’re willing to risk so much for him?” because he’s beginning to see things from her perspective. How he’s doing that of course is not something she’s going to ask.

“Do you know me to invest time in things that are not worth it in the end?”

He knows her. Better than any of The Order, better than those old power-hungry zealots of The Council. None of this was done on a whim. If there’s one thing about Vanessa it’s that she has this uncanny ability to see ahead of everyone else, and act accordingly to get the most beneficial outcome for all involved.

“What have you seen?” because in times like these, the best questions are the ones that pertain to the tasks at hand and the events to come.

“A powerful threat will be here soon, stronger than the wolves have ever faced, worse than the Alpha Pack, and smarter than will be assumed.”

“And he is the key?”

The scepticism in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed.

“He is the solution.”

 

***

Stiles makes it through half the day without incident. Until he has Chemistry with Harris. Who pairs him with Scott in some bizarre split personality change of behaviour. Honestly he doesn’t know why they haven’t fired the guy by now. He’s like the worse teacher ever and even though this is Stiles’ last year, Harris must not have gotten the memo because he does everything in his power to make any and all classes with him a hellish experience that Stiles will erase from his memory the first chance he gets with what will hopefully be ridiculously copious amounts of vodka and tequila. He may have to take a trip out of Beacon Hills to do it though. Can’t do anything in this town without it getting back to his Dad somehow. There are eyes and ears everywhere. And those are just the human ones.

But back to the topic at hand. Harris just paired him with Scott. How fucking ironic is this? Harris used to look for every opportunity he could get to separate the two of them and now he suddenly decides he wants them together? Really? Is this some sort of cosmic joke? Because Stiles isn’t laughing. And he’s got a rather versatile sense of humor, but this one is lost on him.

Scott doesn’t move after Harris calls out their names. He sort of just sits there, gaping a little, with an intensely confused expression on his face. Stiles thought he would have out grown the clueless potato* thing by now but hey, he’s been wrong before.

“Mr. McCall have you developed some aural disability that I am unaware of?”

“No sir?”

“Then please sit next to Mr. Stilinski as previously instructed, unless you need me to repeat myself again, perhaps in another language, but seeing as you fail following instructions in English I’m thinking that would be pointless and a waste of precious oxygen as well.”

Scott grabs up his books and heads for the empty stool next to Stiles. The expression on his face is wary to say the least. Yeah, poker face: another failure on that ever growing list of Scott’s. Stiles can only imagine the length it’s at right now.

“Alright you bottom feeders, turn to page 225, chapter six: Chemical Catalysts. We’ll be doing Section two, Experiment five. This counts towards thirty percent of your mid-term so I would recommend you not fail but seeing as some of you are so inept at comprehending basic English I’m not putting it past you. You have until the end of class. Begin!”

He can do this. They can work together. They don’t have to talk, just follow the steps, mix the chemicals and wait for the end result. No way this can blow up in anyone’s face. Unless Scott mixes the shit wrong of course because Stiles is more than capable of reading and comprehending in English, Spanish and Latin now. He's allowed to feel smug about that. The class goes on in relevant silence, the clink of beakers and the rustle of textbook pages aside. Scott is surprisingly accident free today. He’s not going to think about the possible reasons for that right now. Not while he’s got to come up with a milky-white solution, a  clear blue something that smells like acid and a black bubbling compound that reminds him of...that reminds him of...

 _Fuck_.

He has to shake his head to clear the memories from taking over. He can’t get distracted or else he’ll fail and Harris will hold it over his head forever and...

“Stiles...”

He vaguely hears the anxious whisper through the slivers of memory creeping over him as the solution in Beaker number one turns black and begins to bubble. It bubbles and bubbles and Stiles stares frozen in horror as it starts to overflow the rim of the beaker and spreads over the table top, soaking his books, climbing up over his hands...

 _“Stiles!”_ Scott whispers louder this time.

He was trying really hard not to say anything but then there was this strong burst of fear coming off of Stiles, and he couldn’t smell anything from him before (he couldn’t figure out why) so now he’s officially freaking out. Stiles is turning pale, his eyes are distant and his hands are shaking. Like really shaking.

Stiles doesn’t know what to do. It’s like he’s frozen again except this time it isn’t Vanessa doing this and he’s in class and he doesn’t know what the fuck to do. It’s everywhere, sticking to everything, sliding under his fingernails, and all he can see is Derek, on the floor in front of him, bleeding and screaming because it’s killing him. The black tar is clawing its way out of Derek’s mouth, forcing itself up and out, and the wolf’s entire body is contorting and writhing with agony. But Stiles can’t do a thing to help him or stop this, whatever it is. It’s holding him in place while it evicts itself from the vessel that was housing it.

The black mass is bubbling still, slightly more congealed now, like it’s trying to take shape, like it has a form. Stiles thinks he doesn’t want know what it is. Please god don’t show him whatever this is. He’s been enough of a nut job as it is and doesn’t want to go back to taking meds to keep himself sane and focused. But his plea goes unanswered and the black mass starts to rise from the ground, slow and shaky like it’s not used to standing upright outside of Derek’s body. It’s tall and kind of looks like how someone would look draped in a huge sheet like they’re pretending to be a ghost. Except this ghost is real and staring at him with deep, dark holes for eyes and he can’t fucking move or breathe when all he wants to do is get away from here as quickly as possible. And Derek is still on the ground behind the monster, frozen with his eyes open in fear, black still leaking from his eyes and mouth and ears and nose and fuck Stiles looks away as he feels his stomach lurching. He won’t, he won’t be made to feel this. No. No, no, no. He gave it up. He gave it up goddamnit!

Scott says a quick prayer and then squeezes Stiles’ hand as hard as he can without breaking any bones because that would be a hell of a thing to explain. The teen’s skin is cold and clammy and beaded with sweat and now Scott’s really confused. The terror emanating from Stiles is almost suffocating and he doesn’t know what’s causing it and that’s freaking him out even more because it’s like Stiles is caught in a trance and can’t hear him or see him or anything. So he extends his claws slightly and squeezes again because it’s all he can think of to pull his best friend out of it. Derek said before that pain can act as a trigger or an anchor. Scott hopes it’s an anchor in this case to bring Stiles back to reality.

It’s not.

Stiles screams, loudly, a terrifying, blood-curling thing that has Scott wincing in pain and whimpering and the rest of the class starts screaming because beakers start exploding and everything starts shaking and the desks are rattling and the window panes start vibrating.

“Mr. Stilinski!” even Harris sounds scared, not mad, but seriously worried, because Stiles hasn’t stopped screaming or shaking and then he starts convulsing and falls off the stool and Scott’s panicking now because this has never happened before.

Stiles isn’t sick, if he was Scott would know. Or his mom would know and she would tell him but this isn’t that. This is something else, something worse because Stiles starts bleeding from his nose. The red is bright and blatant against the stark white of the classroom floor tiles and the room’s still suffering from paranormal activity and people are still freaking out and Scott is yelling for someone, anyone to help, help him, help Stiles, just fucking help, and then just like that Stiles' heart stops. It just fucking stops. Like someone flipped a light switch. Dead silence.

And then everything else stops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some people have an issue with the ‘potato’ terminology but I never took it to mean anything derogatory the first time I read it in a fic. When I use it I do so to refer to the extent of someone’s cluelessness or being extremely slow on the uptake. That’s it. No offence is intended towards anyone so please do not interpret it as such.


	10. Chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 03Jan13 - excuse the lack of formatting but i'm in a hurry. will fix tomorrow. enjoy for now if u can :)
> 
> 04Jan13 - Okay so here are my official notes now. Oh my god where do I begin *fumbles* um...I LOVE YOU ALL FOR THE AMAZING SUPPORT you've been giving me. I have so many conflicting emotions about this fic because of where it's at right now but then I read a comment or see kudos and it reassures me that 'hey the people like it so u must be doing something right'.
> 
> This chapter introduces the magic element of the story. My descriptions may leave a lot to be desired but hopefully fuhrmana will come through for me. He/She offered to help with the mystical research.
> 
> Also, if parts of the scenes sound repetitive it's because I've written then to flow from one person's pov right into the next pov so if Scott and Issac are in one scene and it cuts right when Issac leaves, the next bit will start from where Issac's outside now and therefore some goings-on will be a bit similar. If this is annoying to anyone then sorry (cringe face)

***

_Let chaos storm!_

_Let cloud shapes swarm!_

_I wait for form._

\- Robert Frost, "V. Pertinax"

***

 

 Vanessa senses the energy. It fills her office like a heavy fog and it takes all of her willpower to not crumble under its force. She doesn’t recognise it but she knows. It’s here. She though they would have had more time to prepare. More time to...

Then she’s screaming because her bond with Stiles is on fire. It feels like her skin is being peeled off her bones and something is trying to fill the space between, expanding like funny putty, pushing and pushing. Everything in her tells her get to Stiles, get to Stiles. She hears his screams above her own and she finds the strength to get up and run. Vanessa runs like the devil himself is chasing her, down the halls, hair streaming behind her like dark shadows. If anything, if anyone, has hurt him, there will be hell to pay. She hears the uproar before she gets there, hears the rattling and the exploding coming from the classroom, but nothing prepares her for the sight that greets her when she wrenches the door open and gets inside.

There’s glass and paper and ashes and black liquid everywhere.

Everywhere.

Students are huddled together, crying, holding each other, like they’re all still caught in what just happened. She hears herself asking for him, asking for Stiles but all she gets are scattered head shakes and pointing fingers and then she hears Scott's screams for help. It's like everything moves in slow motion after that.

Harris is kneeling over Stiles, pumping his chest and breathing into his mouth, but her vision tunnels and all she can make out is black and red: Stiles lying in a pool of black and bleeding red, the two colours mixing together to form something ugly and lifeless. It makes her want to retch because that's his life leaking out onto the floor like it's got someplace better to be than inside him keeping him breathing and warm instead of cold and fading.

He’s so white and so still that her heart seizes in her chest. They can't have lost already. He's so young, too young to be gone already, gone before they've even had a chance. Then her anger overrides the pain and she’s furious, so furious that her vision starts turning white. This is not happening. This is not happening to him!

“Stiles!” she screams, “Stiles!” and grabs a cellphone from some kid, punches out 911 and yells for a medic, for medics, for the whole damn ER to get here, and then she’s next to him, cradling his head in her lap.

Harris is still doing CPR and Scott’s holding his hand, tears staining his face.

_Deaton he’s been attacked._

That’s all she sends out before focusing on the task at hand. She closes her eyes and starts chanting, index and middle fingers pressed against his temple. 

 

_Invida, morsmordré_

_Retva aparé_

_Infinité invida_

_Respiré mortalis_

Over and over because this is not how things were supposed to go.

Scott's gripping Stiles' hand so hard, like he can will him back to life through touch, like he can, like he... oh god he can! He hopes this works or helps in some way because if the CPR fails, if the ambulance doesn't get here in time...damn it.

_Focus Scott! Focus!_

He closes his eyes and tries to visualize ropes or threads, what those would feel like mentally, the way Deaton showed them, and pulls as hard as he can. He doesn't care if it might kill him or if it does kill him. All he cares about is saving Stiles. For once he can turn the tables and save Stiles instead of it always being the other way around. There's no room for 'maybe'. Only 'do'.

***

Deaton's dealing with a Yorkie with a broken leg when Vanessa's cry interrupts his concentration. It's tinted with panic and worry, and while she's not the kind to let her emotions cloud her, he realises the gravity of the meaning behind the presence of these emotions.

_What happened?_

_I don't know. I sensed something foreign then felt him through the bond right after, and when I got there he was unconscious and bleeding and there's black everywhere and he's not breathing; he's not waking up! Deaton help me!!_

_Calm down. You won't lose him. Take whatever you need. We will not lose him today._

She feels the power surging through their bond even as he's saying the words.

*** 

Isaac senses Scott's discomfort, then apprehension, and then caution but can't for the life of him figure out what could be causing this at school. Then he's hit with a wave of concern that morphs into panic and fear and then a horrid mixture of the two until it blots out everything else in his brain and he stumbles from the sheer force of it. Now he's seriously freaking out and vibrates with indecision: he's supposed to be doing a perimeter run but he's never felt this from Scott before. It scares him, this unknown flood of emotions, all muddled together like Scott is losing control of himself.

_Scott!  Scott! What's wrong? What's happening?_

One word. That's all he gets. He doesn't need anything else.

_STILES!!!_

"Fuck!"

The beta breaks out into a run, heading straight for the high school. He doesn't need to stop because the others will pick up on his heightened emotions as he passes through. What he doesn't count on is his Alpha being the first to detect him.

_Where are you going Isaac?_

_Scott...school...Stiles...wrong..._

Of course it's jumbled. Scott's pain is Isaac's so there'll be no coherency until Isaac can actually see Scott in front of him. Derek isn't surprised. The two boys do have a different bond to the rest of them. He tries not to think about it too much. Then Scott's panic flares up again through the pack bond, stronger than before, and while Derek doesn't stumble under its intensity it does make him stop moving and brace a hand against the nearest wall. What the hell?!

*** 

"Where the hell is the ambulance?" Harris yells at the nearest student.

No one knows though. The entire school is in chaos by now. The principal bursts into the classroom out of breath and red in the face, followed by Mrs. Appleton.

"McCall what the hell is on your arm?" Harris says mid-pump.

The black is winding all the way up his arms and disappearing under the sleeves of his tshirt. His veins are bulging and prominent against his skin, beads of sweat dot his brow, but he can't hear a word.

"Come on Stiles, wake up man! You gotta wake up!"

Vanessa's still chanting, loud enough for Scott to hear, for Harris to hear. Minutes are going by and no sound of that siren yet. She can't feel anything. He's not responding. He should be responding. Harris is still pumping and breathing into him. Yes he's an adult and yes he's freaking the hell out but he has no clue what the hell is going on so he's entitled.

"You better not be dead Stilinski," Harris mutters.

 _I'm almost there Scott,_ comes Issac's voice through the buzzing in his brain, _Hold on. I'm coming._

"Scott!" someone screams out.

Lydia freezes in the middle of overturned desks and pools of black. The lingering remnants of whatever did this are still present and she feels it pressing down heavily on her. Her eyes are aglow when she looks at Stiles: it's wrapped all over him, like invisible vines keeping him pinned down. She runs towards them, gasping when she sees the state he's in.

He's fading.

Then she notices Ms. Morell, recognizes the chant and her eyes flash a deep violet.

"What have you done to him?" her voice low and venomous.

Ms. Morell doesn't look up.

_Use your senses Theti, I'm trying to save him._

The connection between them is severed. Harris looks up at her as faint sounds of the ambulance register in the distance.

"Miss Martin do you know CPR?"

She nods briskly, not trusting herself to speak.

"Take over. I need to meet the ambulance," he says pushing himself up and runs out of the classroom.

Lydia drops to the floor where Harris was and holds her hands over Stiles' chest, palms facing downwards, fingers spread over his heart.

 

_"E su mala mithaa, na su mitaa ae sa mithaa_

_Une faren thur ii no mal e su mithaa_

_Imé djé ajé su nal mithaa_

_Sur imalá mithaa"_

 

Her palms glow with a golden light. Scott starts to feel lightheaded. The healing is starting to take its toll.

"Lydia..." he whispers.

She grabs his wrist and the black flows from his arms into hers. Vanessa feels when Lydia's magic enters the bridge she's made to Stiles. It merges with her own, golden snakes twining about her blue ones, attacking the black poisoning his body, his energy.

Issac speeds past the medics and Harris. The classroom is on the opposite end of the building. They won't make it in time.

"SCOTT!" he calls out the minute he enters the room and smells the blood.

His sneakers slide in it a little and then he's next to them, one hand on Scott's back, taking the pain as fast as he dares to. Scott leans back into him slightly but doesn't relax. Issac can feel how tense his entire body is.

"The paramedics are here but they won't make it in time. We need to get him out of here, to them. We gotta-"

"It's not working," Lydia startles, panic lacing her collected tone, "It's supposed to work, our magic should be healing him! Why isn't he waking up?"

Issac tries to move Scott.

"We have to move him..."

"It's not working," Lydia's voice cracks.

Vanessa doesn't want to but they have no choice.

"He's dying,"

The three teenagers stare at her like she's just cursed them. Her eyes are red and hard. She focuses them on Issac.

"Take him now, they're not that far away,"

He doesn't move right away and she snaps.

"Get him out of here Issac or he will die!"

The ugliness of her tone snaps him to and he scoops Stiles' unconscious form up as gently as he can and bolts out, Scott on his heels. She makes to follow them but a hand darts out to snatch her arm.

"What.did.you.do.to.him?" Lydia grounds out each word with barely contained anger.

Vanessa knows all too well this Theti's connection to him. With a speed too fast for her to react, Vanessa grabs both sides of Lydia's face and stares into her eyes.

 _"Conocévémé!_ " and then lets go almost instantly.

A moment passes and then they're both running out the room, leaving the other students behind. They hear the explosions only when they pass the library. More screams and glass breaking and frantic shouting. Jackson bursts out the doors two seconds behind them.

"What's going on?" he yells as the lights explode over their heads raining glass down on them.

Lydia pushes the shards away with a wave of her hand. They keep running. The screams get louder.

***

The minute they exit the classroom the explosions start again. Only this time everything explodes. The lights overhead go out, spraying glass everywhere. The windows are vibrating in their frames so hard that they shatter one after the other down the corridor. Chairs fly up at them, smashing into lockers, denting the metal mercilessly. The vending machine outside the AV room hurtles towards Issac but he can't dodge or block it because he's got Stiles. Scott throws himself between and slams straight into it, bending it in half, before flipping it over them.

"I'm fine, keep going!" he shouts to Issac because he knows Issac will stop to make sure he's okay.

But Stiles is the priority, not him. The curly head nods in acknowledgment and disappears around the corner, past the quad. Scott reaches out for Allison. Her homeroom is down this corridor.

_Allison!!!_

_Scott!! What's going on Scott? The doors locked themselves and we can't get out. The windows are all jammed. Are you okay? What about the others?_

He doesn't answer, just rams into the next door and breaks it down. Allison stares at him for a second and then he's out running after Issac again.

***

The windows and lights continue to explode as they go past. Issac feels the pieces cutting into his skin and then his healing instantly. It's like a million tiny pins stabbing him all over. He sees Harris just ahead, the paramedics with him. They're crouched behind a pile of mangled chairs that used to sit outside the principal's office. It's not that far to the entrance of the school. If they could just get to the front doors..

"Mr. Harris!" he calls out.

"We can't get past! Stay back Issac!" his voice barely travelling across the din.

There's some sort of force in the middle of the hallway stirring up what looks like a freaking whirlwind? Issac blinks. What the fuck? But he's not seeing things. There's a fucking tornado in front of them, spinning black and deadly, sucking everything around into its vortex. Stiles is cold in his arms.

"No, no, no!"

A snarl to his right catches his attention. Derek lands on the ground next to him on all fours, alphaed out, fangs bared.

"Derek!" the relief is evident in Issac's voice.

He's caught off guard at the sight of Issac's burden and for a minute he can't breathe. There's no scent of life anywhere in or on Stiles. The name sounds so foreign on his lips. But he doesn't have time to contemplate right now. A loud roar shakes the building. Dust falls from the ceiling over their heads. All the doors slam open all at once. Pandemonium erupts as kids start pouring into the hallways, all screaming to get out.

"Get Stiles out," is all Derek says before pushing Issac behind him, "go out through the windows two rooms back!"

"What about the medics?" Issac asks as he turns to run.

"Forget these. More are on the way!"

Then Lydia's beside him, eyes blazing silver, hair billowing as she attempts to contain the tornado. Derek smells Scott and Allison behind them.

_Get to Issac, he's got Stiles. They're going to need you with them. We've got this._

Thank god Scott outgrew questioning him a long time ago. They disappear in pursuit of Issac. Jackson, Erica and Boyd appear in place of them.

"What is that thing?" Erica shouts, the roar of the wind is deafening, especially to the wolves hearing.

"It's powerful, that's all that matters!" Lydia shouts back.

As if hearing her, the whirlwind splits in two and rips through the ceiling. The rubble crashes down on Harris and the medics. Derek's hackles raise, he doesn’t like collateral damage but that's what those humans have just become. The betas growl agitatedly. Lydia's muttering beside him.

"I can't contain it!" her face is set in determination even as she realises she's no match for this thing.

"What do you mean you can't contain it?" Derek snaps.

"This isn't its true form. I don't think this is even the real thing-"

"Not real?" Jackson bites out, "From where I'm standing it feels pretty fucking real Lyds!"

She huffs as though she's surrounded by incompetents and not some murderous supernatural force.

"I mean that this is just a manifestation of whatever's attacking the school, something created by it to cause chaos and confusion..."

"...to distract us..." Derek says as the pieces fall into place for him, "We need to get to Scott and Issac now!"

Jackson is surprisingly hesitant.

"But what about this thing?" and he gestures frantically to the tornado ripping up this wing of the school.

"I'll deal with it, if it's not the source then it's about to wish it was!" Lydia tells them as she stalks towards it hands outstretched, chanting as she goes.

"I'm staying with her."

Derek had no intention of telling Jackson otherwise. Mates stuck together  no matter what. Lydia and Jackson were living proof of that. He nods before heading off in the other direction. He trusts his betas can protect her, not that she needs it.

"I hope you have a plan Martin!" Erica shouts as the second tornado carves a path straight for them, ripping up the floor, huge three foot wide tiles careening everywhere in the wake of its approach.

***

Scott chases after Issac, nose picking out his scent through the hundreds of kids swarming the halls in a frenzy. It's utter mayhem. People are bleeding and damaged, crying and in shock, some are dead judging by the immobile bodies he sees here and there. There's smoke and debris everywhere. Parts of the ceiling and walls have been blown out like bombs went off all over the place. He can hear the sirens and cacophony of voices outside. The Sheriff is here.

They make it to the doors only to see Issac crouching low just before the doorway, Stiles' body still clutched in his arms. All this time and they never made it out? He can hear the ambulances but he can't hear Stiles' heart, no breathing, nothing. The faint flow of blood that was pulsing before through his veins, even that's gone. The tears start to blind him. Stiles can't be gone. Allison clutches his arm.

"Issac..." she whispers, gaze trained on the beta.

There's something swirling on the floor, slithering around the teen. Black and misty but thick enough to be visible. It doesn't look pleasant. Scott can tell Issac's struggling against it, he can hear his grunts of pain and exertion. It’s everywhere, all around them, covering the floors, crawling up the walls.

“It's trying to take Stiles...” Issac whispers knowing he’ll be heard.

A strange coldness envelopes him then, weighing down his limbs, blurring his vision. He can vaguely hear Scott's cries. All he knows is he can't let it take Stiles. He can't let it take...

"ISSAC!!!!" Scott screams and lunges for him as the blackness swallows them whole only to find himself flying backwards through the air and into a wall of distorted lockers. The metal caves around him like toothpicks being snapped. The last thing he sees is Allison running towards him.

***

Derek hears Allison's screams, sees Scott get flung like a discarded wrapper and all human thought leaves his head. Only one thing remains: PROTECT THE PACK.

His eyes follow Issac's scent just as the black begins to take shape. He wonders if this is the source Lydia was talking about. It flickers though, like it’s not strong enough or close enough to take its full true form. Long dark tendrils wrap around Issac and pry him away from Stiles like peeling a sticker off a plastic bottle. His beta drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes and disappears under a smoke screen of black. Derek can't hear his breathing.

This thing has hurt his pack. This thing has hurt Scott and Issac and now it's taking Stiles. No one can take Stiles!

The Alpha roars in fury and darts forward in a fit of rage at such a blinding speed that everything is wind whistling in his ear as he goes past. The mass turns on him, red bleeding into the black to form something like eyes. Its gaze renders him immobile. His wolf roars again in retaliation, screaming to be released from this. A thundering begins from within the school, from behind him but Derek can’t see what’s heading towards them. He’s as helpless as a fly caught in a spider’s web and all he can see is that thing holding Stiles, holding Stiles’ lifeless body.

“LET-HIM-GO!!” he roars again, fighting the hold he’s been caught in.

_“Sarrrr mearrrr nu tha meinnnn olphaaaa”_

What the fucking hell? It’s talking to him?

_“Norrr farrrr gaelith aon imaaa olphaaa”_

The eyes start melting as the black morphs into one complete mass again, this time an opening for a mouth the only thing visible. It stretches, black dripping everywhere, the inside like an endless pitt. Derek closes his eyes. He doesn’t want that ugly, hulking mass of death to be the last thing he sees.

_Protect Stiles. If I die, just protect Stiles._

He’s never prayed before and he doesn’t even know who he’s talking to. Just that people seem to think that it works and if it does, then the only person that needs saving is Stiles.

A blistering heat sears across the front of his body followed by something that sounds like lightning cracking the ground. He hears a voice calling his name. A woman. He knows her. Deaton’s kin: Morell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 04Jan13 - Yes another cliffhanger I know (as pointed out by my first 3 reviewers on this chap: Mulder200, SerenityC and xMissxSpunkyx). You guys made me laugh so much because I was like 'I knew it! I knew they were gonna call me out on the cliffie xD'. Trust me though, it was the best place to cut the chapter otherwise what is now ch11 would have been here and it would have just been too much.
> 
> See you soon :)


	11. When In Need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliff-hanger ahead. You have been warned.

***

  _"In all things, it is better to hope than to despair" - Johann Wolfgang won Goethe **  
**_

***

 

Vanessa skids to a halt. The darkness has Stiles. It has Stiles. And it’s about to kill Derek. Neither of those endings bodes well for their future if they are to have a future. Her left hand raises towards them, voice loud and strong, fuelling the spell with all the power she can muster.

“ _Ima firé INFINITIS!”_

A bolt like lighting shoots out of her palm and slashes between Derek and the mouth of the creature. It screams, a horrid, piercing, unnatural sound, like a demon, and drops the Alpha to the ground. She fires another and another at it.

“Derek get up!” Vanessa yells knowing she can’t hold it off for long. It is far more powerful than she is.

_Deaton I need you here!_

_“CEASTÉ!”_ Lydia cries, a purple barrier surrounding them as shards of black hurtle like knives in their direction. They bounce off clumsily, harmless for now against her protection.

“He obviously does not appreciate our taste in spells,” she says flippantly, coming to stand beside Vanessa.

“You dispelled it?”

“It took some time, and the use of three Betas as punching bags-” Lydia says like it was no big deal.

“Repeatedly!” Jackson inserts.

“-but yes, it’s gone, for now at least. No guarantee it won't come back though."

“Got any tricks up your sleeve for this thing Martin?” Erica asks, a hint of fear in her voice as she fully takes in the creature engulfing everything before them.

“We need to get to Stiles,” Vanessa says before anymore talk can be had, “We need to protect him, at all costs.”

Lydia purses her lips in calculation, “Offensive spells, shields for protection, and we need to get it outside,”

Vanessa smiles in that way of hers that has them all a little wary.

“Leave that to me...”

“You three get Derek, Stiles and Issac out of there, I’ll distract it.”

Her tone leaves no room for argument. Only a dead man would dare question Lydia Martin.

"Allison you and Scott get as many as you can out of here!" she shouts, knowing they'll hear her once they've peeled Scott out of the lockers.

Lydia turns her head to Vanessa, "I'll try to buy you as much time as I can..." and she trails off there because they both know she's no match for power of this magnitude. Neither of them are.

She takes a couple of steps, stretches one hand out palm forward, and holding the pendant on her necklace with the other, begins reciting the spell in a firm, clear voice. It tumbles off her lips with practiced ease like a song, louder and louder, as the wind picks up around her and whips through the school.

Thanks to tall, dark and ugly's crash course in destructive redecoration there are so many open areas that the place is as drafty as a mountain peak. She can hear Ms. Morell behind her but her focus is on her spell. The power wells up within her like steam waiting to escape. Her eyes close as the pendant begins to glow a fiery red, the energy tossing her hair about her face as the crystal lifts off her chest (to float on level with her collarbone), no longer clutched in her hand. The red is blazing now, the heat it exudes bordering on blistering.

At the height of the incantation Lydia opens her eyes, they're completely silver again, and utters one word:

_"Destrus."_

A burst of energy like a shockwave explodes from where she stands, spreading outwards and cutting through everything in its path. The wolves are knocked flat by the sheer force of the spell. The creature screeches in agony as the searing white light slices it to the core, temporarily displacing it. For a few precious seconds Stiles' body is visible again.

Vanessa sees the opening and drops to her knees.

_"Incendis trimorte!"_

Her palms slap down on the ground and it errupts before them like a huge earthquake is ripping through it. The floor literally dissolves beneath their feet. The ceiling blows off completely like its been torn away from the outside. The already crumbling walls implode on themselves sending concrete and rubble everywhere. Fire consumes what's left and a pulsing glow surges through the ruins of the school blinding them all. The creature disappears with a blood-curling wail. She can hear the wolves screaming at each other to 'grab Stiles' and 'get Issac' and 'fuck where's lydia'. More importantly she hears the voice of the Sheriff yelling for his son and thinks for a moment they're safe.

But of course they're not.

* * *

Erica scrambles ungracefully over the craters in the ground to get to her alpha. He's unconscious and bleeding and there's a strange mark on his abdomen where his tshirt's pushed up. She touches it gingerly and is jolted to backwards by the current that shocks her fingertips. Derek comes to moments after and blinks blearily at her.

"Get 'em out of there!" she hears the Sheriff saying in the background even though her ears are still ringing from just now.

"Come on, we gotta get to safety. This freakin' school's a death trap," hauling Derek up as best as she can and they start hobbling towards the line of police cars.

"Sti-s..." is all he can get out but she knows what he's asking and a spike of anger rakes through her.

"He got out I think," she won't lie but she doesn't have to like this.

They're at the bottom of the steps when a piecing cry splits the air and what's left of her eardrums. Gunshots are being fired and people start screaming again. 'Oh god it's back' someone yells and more gunfire. Fuck it's not over yet. That thing didn't look like it could be taken out that easily. It sounds like an eagle's cry, a howling wolf, a screaming raven and a squealing pig (when it's being slaughtered) all rolled into one and distorted by a thousand degrees. Like it's being exorcised against it's will. Except no one's done a thing yet. Which means it's pretty fucking mad over what happened just now and probably back for revenge and to kill them all.

"Lydiaaa..." Jackson calls, the fear evidence in his voice.

"I'm thinking!" she snaps.

Ms. Morell walks over to her, helped by Boyd. She's bleeding from her head and nose and has a pretty bad limp.

"Give me your hand," she says as she kneels beside Lydia, taking it without waiting for a response.

"What are you doing?" Lydia's voice is low and troubled, "I don't have that much left in me..."

Vanessa gives a pained smile, "I'm not taking."

Recognition settles over the teenage girl's face. The creature shrieks again, the sound of nails on a chalkboard, forks scraping on a plate, and attacks. A blanket of black dust sprays from its mouth, disintegrating whatever it touches. The guns keep firing.

"They've got to know that won't work," Jackson mutters.

Allison watches as the bullets turn into ash followed by two of the police cars. Scott squeezes her hand in his but his eyes reflect hers: they might die here. Derek's no better. His alpha powers are useless. He doesn't have magic. None of them do, except for Lydia but she's human and will be out of juice soon. They need a fucking miracle or else they will all die here.

* * *

John stares at his son. He doesn't understand. He saw him this morning, they had breakfast, joked around, then he left for work and Stiles went to school. School. Where he's supposed to be safe and protected until he comes back home. How did this happen? How in God's green earth did this happen? What even is this? He feels like he's caught in an episode of that horror show Stiles loves to watch with those brothers who fight supernatural beings. He could really do with a guardian angel right now. Because for all appearances his son is dead. His beautiful baby boy is gone.

How can he explain to Moira that he couldn't keep their son safe for the ten measly years since she's been gone? How can he explain to anyone that some supernatural creature is terrorizing the local high school? That it killed their children, that it killed his son, and is trying to kill the rest of them? How will he explain why there's a massive cloud of magical black dust eating everything in sight and leaving only ashes in its wake?

This has all quickly become a little too X-Files for him. He's out of his league.

His kid is dead.

And Derek Hale is some kind of wolf man and the guidance counsellor is a witch and so is Lydia Martin and Stiles is dead. Did he mention that?

His son is dead.

And he can't fix any of this. He's the Sheriff and he doesn't know what to do. John's helpless. That's not a good feeling at all.

The screams bring him to a little, just in time to see the haze of black descending upon them. He grips Stiles hand a little tighter. If he has to die, this is how he's going to do it: with Stiles. So he'll never be alone. At least he was here with him till the end.

John closes his eyes.

* * *

Boyd holds Erica, who's still cradling Derek against her. Jackson is right behind Lydia, who's holding hands with Ms. Morell. Scott and Allison are right there next to them, Issac's unconscious form in Scott's arms. They've done everything they could. Even as wolves they can't outrun this and he knows that. At least the pack is together, he doesn't want to die alone he thinks.

The screams are hard to ignore. The black cloud's moving closer and closer and Boyd's hold on Erica tightens. She grips his jacket and they wait. It's a good way to go. Knowing you've done everything you could to save the ones you love.

* * *

Vanessa closes her eyes and waits. She can feel the Martin girl's nervousness, the way her hand is tense in hers. But the timing has to be right because this is all they have left. This is the last stand she can make before her strength is gone.

It's almost upon them when she yells.

_"Eterni!"_

Their eyes glow gold in unison and a gold flash bursts from between their conjoined hands, like a huge beacon straight into the sky. Then it balloons out spreading over the carpark in a massive luminescent dome, covering over them all.

"What is that?"

"Oh my god are we dead?"

Scott reaches up and touches the barrier gingerly. It's solid under his fingers even though its mostly transparent as if it's not actually there.

"What is it?"

"Protection," Ms. Morell murmurs, "Until backup arrives."

Lydia's hand tightens around hers. She can feel the tremors raking her body.

"Are you sure you can keep this up? You got pretty banged up back there, your nose was bleeding. That only ever happens to me when a spell's too strong for me to master yet,"

Vanessa smiles. Lydia always did pick up on things the quickest.

"I'm strong enough for this."

* * *

 Someone shakes him to tell him they're not dead yet. The guidance counsellor and Lydia have made some sort of barrier that's keeping them all alive for now. He looks up and sees the black dust slithering over the golden shield like angry snakes, striking at it to get in and kill them. He shudders to think what will happen if the circle is broken.

* * *

_Deaton, if you can hear me it-it's here. I thought I could have prevented it but I've failed: Stiles is dead. The school's destroyed. There have been casualties. Lydia is strong but this creature is far stronger than us. You must warn the elders. Tell the Order to prepare. Darkness is upon us...protect them brother, protect them where I could not._

Vanessa senses the attack before it happens. It's like a heat emanating from the source of the energy. Her body reacts on instinct and the magic streams out of her to strengthen the shield. The rumbles of the counter magic from outside shake the barrier visibly. The humans react as they should: fearfully, but there's less screaming this time around.

"When exactly is back up coming?" Lydia asks, sounding only a tad worried as the barrier rumbles again against the onslaught. It's holding for now but it won't hold forever. This power far outmatches theirs.

Derek is the one to answer.

"Deaton should have been here by now..."

"I tried contacting him but I don't know if the pathway is being blocked by that thing. The only time he answered was when we were in the classroom before Harris left to meet the ambulance. I haven't heard from him since then,"

The pack looks even more sombre at that news. Derek thinks only once before speaking.

"Let me out."

"What?!" Erica screeches, "Did you miss the part where we got our asses handed to us trying to protect you and get you out safe? And you wanna leave the last bit of protection to do what exactly?"

"He's going to find Deaton."

Lydia always was the smart one. Maybe he should offer her the bite when this is over, if they make it out alive that is.

"What if you don't make it? Then it'll be for nothing and you'll be dead and then we'll all die and that'll be the stupidest thing ever!" Scott huffs, facial expression: disgruntled puppy.

"It's a big risk you're taking," is all Boyd says.

Jackson is strangely quiet. Allison is the one who cements it.

"Be careful," and in that moment he's proud that Scott has such a strong mate to support him, to be the voice of reason when he can't accept the difficult things in life.

His pack will be fine. They're young yes but they're strong and can pull together when it's needed. They will make it even if he does not.

He looks to Vanessa, "Whenever you're ready."

"The rift will open just before the next attack, make sure you get out at that exact moment or the shield will be disrupted,"

She leaves out the _'and we'll all die'_ part.

Derek grunts in pain but manages to push himself off of Erica. His feet steady themselves within seconds and then he shifts, muscles tensing for the moment he'll have to run. The screeching outside builds up again. Vanessa nods as Lydia shouts, "Go!" and he dashes for the edge of the barrier furthest away from the front of the school at the very end of the carpark.

"Hurry!" he hears Lydia calling out behind him and sees the opening: it's small enough to just get through.

Derek leaps into the rent just in time. The edge of his t-shirt isn't so lucky.

* * *

John sees Derek Hale's mad dash away as the next attack hits the barrier and knows something's up. It's time he had a talk with those 'kids'.

"Would any of you care to tell me what's going on? Or am I going to have to wring it out of you?"

They all look up blankly. At least Scott tries to but he never was good at a poker face.

"Well?"

There's still hesitation and silence. He's not in the mood for this.

"My son is dead because of this, so if any of you know what the hell is going on I suggest you tell me now, or we are going to have a serious problem."

Surprisingly Allison is the one to speak up, "Would you like the long version or the short version?"

"Short _honest_ version," he specifies.

"Normally I'd oblige but given the circumstances, Allison?" Lydia delegates like the queen that she is.

"That thing is some supernatural big bad, it's what killed Stiles but we don't know how. Derek's an Alpha werewolf, they're betas, I'm a Hunter, Lydia's a..." she gestures to the barrier overhead for lack of proper terminology, "...Dr. Deaton isn't just a vet, just like Ms. Morell is more than a guidance counsellor, and he might be able to help except we haven't heard from him since the attacks started so Derek's gone to see if he can find him otherwise we're all dead."

They're all staring at him now with varying degrees of caution, unease and fear? Allison's slightly pink in the cheeks but her countenance is strong and unwavering.

It's like a wrecking ball blow to the gut. God, they're _kids_ , just kids! When did fighting the supernatural become part of the job description for growing up? The most kids their age had to deal with in his day was making it through high school. It's like he's fallen straight into an episode of Buffy or something...

He's reminded painfully of how much like Stiles that sounds.

"There aren't any vampires around here then?" because he definitely won't be able to deal with that on top of everything else.

"What?!" Scott yelps out.

Vanessa answers in the negative at the same time, "No, not in Beacon Hills."

He can roll with the punches. If Stiles could have dealt with this then he will too.

* * *

Derek can hear them behind him. That thing's sent Beserkers after him. How he knows what they're called is beyond him but he can smell them; they reek of death and despair. Their howls are thick with hunger and there's only one thing they feed on: fear. And once they scent that, it fuels them until they consume what they're after. Derek can't say he's pleased with this little kink in the plan.

They're like hell hounds but fifty times faster, a hundred times more vicious and the furthest thing from easy to control. In his Alpha form he's only just outrunning them but he knows that will soon change. They will catch up to him.

* * *

Lydia can tell Ms. Morell is getting weaker by the minute. This is a level six protection spell she's cast with Lydia as the anchor because she doesn't have enough power in her to maintain the incantation herself. And not that Lydia isn't impressed with the depth of her abilities but if Ms. Morell goes she has nothing of this magnitude to counter the creature with, especially if Deaton doesn't show up soon.

Jackson tucks her hair back from her face and murmurs, "Use me Lyds,"

"I don't need-"

"Cut the crap alright?" he snaps wolfing out, "The veins in your neck are starting to pop; you're straining and we both know it. And I'm not saying you're not strong enough to hold the spell, I know you can, but not under these circumstances,"

She still hesitates.

"Just do it!" he huffs grabbing her arm.

That's one of the reasons why they're perfect together or at least why they used to be perfect together. She knows things have changed between them but he still knows her and what she needs when she needs it. The shield flickers for a second at the influx of life force feeding it and then glows bright yellow. His eyes flash with blue fire and they don't change back.

* * *

_Deaton I'm on my way to your office. Are you there?_

The reply is instant.

_Yes I'm here. I've been trying to reach Vanessa..._

_She's still at the school, the pack's with her. There was an attack, not everyone made it out..._

He falters here because he can't bring himself to deal with Stiles' death as yet. He can't acknowledge that as yet.

_She's made a shield to protect the survivors. But there's this black dust and we don't know how long it'll hold for._

_Is she okay? What about Mr. Stilinski? Is he..._

_She was banged up like the rest of us. Lydia's helping her with the shield so I'm guessing her power's weakening. She blew up the ground and set everything on fire._

Deaton knows immediately what she did and just exactly the kind of shape she must be in. He can also infer what's happened to Stiles if Derek's outright dismissal of his question is anything to go on.

_From the sound of things there isn't much time before that shield won't hold anymore. How close are you?_

_I'm almost th-_

It feels like three rows of smoldering hot metal spikes as thick as crowbars are cutting into his thigh. The pain sears across his brain like a firebrand and he crashes down in the middle of the empty street severing the connection with Deaton.

The soulless yellow eyes of a Berserker stare up at him from where its teeth are clamped around his thigh. He can hear two more heading towards them, baying as they run to signal the attack.

Fuck.


	12. Someone To Save You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished this last night and still I'm not satisfied with it but I figured I might as well ring in the weekend on a good note right?
> 
> Much love to (3) special faithfuls: Mulder200, xMissxSpunkyx and SerenityC - your comments always fuel me to keep going (just wanted to say that)
> 
> So here's the update for you guys especially, hope you like it :)

_***  
_

_In the face of uncertainty there is nothing wrong with hope – Dr. Carl Simonton_

 ***

 

Allison looks over at Lydia. The concentration is evident in the way she's holding her body, staunch, rigid, with tense precision. Her lips are set in a thin, hard line but she's also pale and the edges of her eyes are crimped with a telling mix of fatigue and distress. If she wasn't so familiar with her friend's idiosyncrasies she would never know: Lydia can't sustain the spell. Even with Jackson's werewolf essence coursing the pathways. They have no way of knowing how much time he's bought for keeping the shields up. Or how fast he will burn out from the pull of the magic.

Erica's eyes meet hers and Allison can see that she's noticed the same thing. A watery smile flits across the blonde's face and then disappears. Boyd instinctively pulls her closer, nose nuzzling against her temple in comfort. Pack is everything and it will always be everything. It is what keeps you going when you can't anymore, it is what gives you the strength to overcome when hope seems like an illusion.

* * *

Deaton rushes outside just in time to see the pack of Berserkers take Derek down.

It's four against one. Alphas may be ridiculously powerful but a lone alpha against a group of Berserkers? Those are not odds in favour of the wolf. Deaton's knowledge of them is limited at best.

This will not end well.

* * *

The pack screams out simultaneously as Derek's agony floods the bond like wildfire. It feels like their bones are burning up from the inside out. Erica screams like she did the night she first turned, like the night Derek broke her arms to force the Kanima venom out of her system. Because the pain is like that but magnified by a thousand. Boyd's screams blend right in with hers and he shifts against his will. It's fucking painful and unpleasant and he can't stop it from happening.

Jackson's screaming too, clutching at his head and then his legs. Through the pain hazing his conscious, Boyd sees him collapse behind Lydia. Her concentration breaks because she hasn't heard screams like that since his post-Kanima nightmares. The shield flickers visibly when she lets go of Vanessa to grab on to Jackson as he falls backwards on the ground like something just slammed straight into him. His eyes keep flashing from human green to beta blue as his body shifts and then de-shifts and then shifts again.

Allison's in the background calling Scott's name as he goes down too. Issac falls from his arms. His body is being raked with this excruciating pain that he's never, ever felt before. It's all consuming and terrifying and renders him a puppet controlled by some unseen force wracking his very being. A loud, mangled cry escapes him and his back arches off the ground with the intensity of the pain. It feels like his limbs are being twisted and wrenched away from him.

"Lydia what's happening to them? What's wrong Scott? Scott!" Allison cries, trying her best to keep her voice steady but that old panic that she thought she'd overcome since that night in the school swarms up unbidden and she can’t stop it.

Lydia doesn't know what to do.

"Jackson! Jackson!" she says frantically but he doesn't hear or answer.

He continues screaming, they're all screaming and the sound scares the fuck out of her and she's not the only one. She can hear the people around them starting to panic again.

"What's going on?"

"What's that screaming?"

"Who's screaming like that?"

"Oh my god what's wrong with that guy's face?"

They’re starting to notice the wolves shifting. Knowing magic's being used is one thing for them to accept, knowing that weres are in the equation is quite another. She could cast a glamour, basic magic after all, one less reveal to worry about right now. But it's five of them and she's already stretched thin enough as it is. It's too much all at once. She can feel her carefully controlled mask slipping.

"Lydia!" Vanessa calls, "I need you!" just as another attack hits the shields.

It ripples audibly this time and a collective scream goes up but the barrier holds. Vanessa pushes as hard as she can and feels the shield just barely repel the attack. The monster roars venomously and attacks again. The shield trembles worse than before.

"Lydia!" she screams, but Lydia can't hear anything beyond Jackson's screams. Nothing she tries is working. His pain isn't stopping, it isn't lessening, it just is.

Scott's no better, his groans cut through Allison like knives because she's helpless again. She can't shoot the creature, she can't stop his pain, she can't do anything. His t-shirt is soaked with blood and sweat but the tears, those are hers.

* * *

Derek wonders if this is what dying will always feel like: excruciating pain. All his run-ins with death have been the same. He's fighting, with everything he has, which isn't much. The fight at the school bashed him up pretty good, not to mention the magic fused in the attacks, dark magic, that sapped his energy twice as fast.

The Berserkers are relentless in their onslaught. He's bleeding profusely (again), his healing has slowed significantly, and it feels like he's got huge mouth-shaped holes all over his body. Still he slashes at anything he can, tears and shreds with his teeth and claws. The air is filled with a twisted symphony of their growls and roars and snarls as they fight, and then whines and howls when fangs connect with flesh, when that flesh is torn. Derek can feel himself tiring.

Just how powerful are these things if they can wear down a pureblood alpha with such ease and efficiency and still be at full capacity?

In a move that’s too swift for him to evade, one lunges for his neck while he’s grappling with the other two. They've tag-teamed him, darting in and out, like cat and mouse but more deadly. Its fangs sink into him with fatal intent and that, _that_ wrenches out a blood-stopping cry he's never made before.

* * *

Issac comes to with a jolt and a crippling pain spreading through his body. Derek's howls are overwhelming and echoing in his brain. It’s like being born deaf and then suddenly having your hearing thrust upon you just like that. He gasps loudly and clutches his head.

"I-ssac...." Scott grounds out between screams, writhing like an asphyxiating fish as the blue-eyed beta’s torment floods _their_ bond.

His claws rake the asphalt beneath them leaving deep furrows as the pack’s bond is infiltrated again. It's different though, burning, like the bond is being eaten away, wavering, like it's being torn apart. Realisation slams into him at the same moment that it does Issac and their eyes meet in one brief moment of clarity:

"Derek..."

Their alpha is dying.

* * *

Vanessa's reserves are depleting. She's no witch, just a magic user. There's a difference between the two hence the reason why she's almost at the end of her rope. Then she hears Lydia's tiny gasp of _'No!'_ and Scott's verbal confirmation of their worst fears and knows in that moment that they've lost. Derek is dying, which means Deaton won't come, and with no one to save them the wolves will die when their Alpha does. The venom from the Berserkers will poison the pack bond and kill them all. The shields will be broken soon and then....then....they will all die. The Order will never get the warning in time. The darkness will not be stopped.

And it's all her fault.

Just as Stiles death rests solely on her shoulders because she didn't protect him enough, because she didn't save him.

* * *

Deaton sends out the warning to the nearest Messenger and prays that it reaches the Council in time. If they send the Order there may yet be a chance but until then he has to try. He made a promise to Miriam Hale and he intends to do everything in his power to keep that promise until he's no longer breathing.

The last Hale Alpha will not be allowed to die today.

" _INVICTUS CORPUS TOTALEM!"_ he bellows rushing towards the horde of dark hounds tearing Derek apart.

* * *

Lydia's crying openly now. She's going to lose Jackson again, for good this time, and there's absolutely nothing she can do about it. All that knowledge and she's useless. She tries to focus, to reign herself back in check, but it's difficult because now that their last hope is gone its becoming harder and harder to think straight. She'll be dead soon and though she's faced death numerous times before, it's different this time around. This time there's no one left to do anything to stop it. There will be no one left to mourn.

There will be no one left.

* * *

Vanessa is at her end.  Allison's next to them giving what she can to help maintain the shield just a little longer but it's not much as she's fully human and has no magic in her. Even with Lydia back next to her the spell is already weakening, they're both drained. Her palm tightens over Lydia's and their eyes meet in silent communication. The girl nods, she already knew.

The wolves have huddled together trying to heal each other simultaneously. It's a slow and seemingly futile process because the venom's already set in through the bond.

The little indicating flare of heat blooms at the back of her neck. Vanessa raises her head and watches the now massive cloud of swirling black dust crash down on the pale gold barrier. The force behind it has increased tenfold as if the creature knows they've reached their limit. The first crack is loud, like an electrical hissing, earning alarmed shouts and cries from the humans. The cloud comes down again with a deafening boom like explosives being set off. More cracks appear, specks of black dust filter in, landing on some of the police cruisers. It dissolves them like acid. People start panicking. It comes down again, the noise like a refinery imploding, their ears ringing instantly. The cracks get larger and larger and more visible, black starting to come in like a light drizzle. People start beating against the shield, yelling to be let out.

"You're going to kill us!"

"Let us out!"

"We're gonna die!"

"Let us out _please_!"

The pounding from within increases in tandem with that from without. The three women at the front are unmoving, eyes closed in concentration as their entwined hands grip each other tighter, pushing everything they have into the quickly crumbling shield. The terrified cries grow louder.

Vanessa chants, channelling through Lydia and Allison, but she doesn't speak the words out loud. Not this time. She will not let this all be for nothing. If this is to be her last stand then she will make it count.

 

 

_Vita immedia trans_

_Mortalis vita_

_Finitis trans vita_

_Incorpis vida infinis_

Her eyes flare red, like a blazing fire, and the shield flashes dark purple, almost black, with tinges of red streaking through as the cloud descends upon them like a blizzard and crashes into the barrier with a sound like roiling thunder.

* * *

_Death is unique to every being. As is magic. Your power will never be like mine as mine will never be like yours. Similarly, upon death our bodies react differently based on our magic. I could still channel through you because your power might still reside within your body depending on the level of your magic. Those born into magic have this luxury. Some of us aren't so fortunate."_

_"So what does that mean for me?"_

_"It could mean either of those outcomes. Your magic is powerful and untapped so you could very well be formidable even in death."_

_"But how can I use my magic if I'm dead? I mean I'd be dead. Can't exactly do anything then."_

_"There are ways you can send some of your power into reserve and then access it when in need or when dying. The spells are complicated but I can teach you to do it."_

_"Well I'd rather not wait till I'm dead or dying to be able to protect the people I love you know."_

_"That's why you cast protection charms Stiles. You already know the basics. The more advanced ones are layered and require the use of fifth and sixth level runes."_

_"Yeah yeah I know, because the more power you store the more powerful the rune and the stronger the effects of the spell."_

_She smiles fondly at him._

_"Wait so that means I finally get my tattoos?  Awesome! I'm gonna look all kinds of badass and shit. Can we do that now? Oh my god wait, is it gonna hurt? Because thinking about it, that's a lot of runes and there's only so much of me to put them on..."_

_"They're invisible and only appear when needed or when in actual use. And also they're magical so you don't necessarily have to use ink. Less painful that way don't you think?"_

* * *

The Berserkers are flung viciously backwards by some invisible force like something grabbed them by the neck and yanked mercilessly, bodies trembling from the force attacking them. They slam into cars and buildings with startled whines and loud crashes like buildings collapsing, which is actually very accurate because the impacts of their bodies create holes in concrete walls and crumple hoods of cars like paper.

Derek has a few seconds of reprieve. That's not even enough time to think about healing. His arms are shredded, long gashes mar his chest and back, rivulets of blood are pouring down his neck. He's breathing heavily and it feels like he might shift back to beta form any minute. Massive bites dot his legs and haunches. Not much is processing in the Alpha's head beyond 'don't die' and 'kill them' but the two don't quite go together since he's the one dying.

Then Deaton's next to him, murmuring words he doesn't recognise, hands glowing like lanterns. The growls are rising steadily as the Berserkers approach again, wary of the intruder in their midst. Their eyes gleam a sick yellowish color and fangs are bared dripping with black venom as they leap simultaneously towards the injured wolf and the vet. Deaton thrusts his palms out towards them and they're caught mid-leap, suspended in the air. He curls his fingers inwards like he's making a fist and they start flailing wildly and whining, trying to escape whatever he's doing to them. Their necks and bodies begin constricting as the human squeezes with his magic.

The largest of the pack snarls even as he's screaming and his pupils dilate, irises turning black. His entire body shudders, a visible ripple running through it...like its about to...shift? Deaton clenches his hands tighter and begins muttering another incantation.

_"Sordre cainus epsun maat!"_

And his throws his hands out towards them. Howls fill the air as one of the monstrous hounds bursts apart in a flash of black. The shifting one convulses with fury, eyes wild with rage, and begins changing form. Derek's eyes widen in horror at the transformation taking place. There's still three of them left.

He gets out a mangled _Deaton_ which is a feat in of itself as his maw is bleeding profusely and his jaw is possibly broken. The vet turns to him briefly. The communication is swift.

_Look out!_

The leader of the pack breaks Deaton's bind. It's countered his magic with its own. A distorted rumbling filters from its chest as it advances slowly, tail swishing like a pendulum behind it, spiked tip dragging on the asphalt beneath its paws that are now the size of car windows. It looms over them like a dark tower of sharp, glittering teeth and claws and spikes.

Deaton's magic won't work on it in this form.

* * *

The cloud impacts the dome with a blinding white light unlike the previous attacks that forces them all to shield their eyes. Even the wolves can't take the brilliance of the glare and have to cover their eyes. Allison pulls Lydia down to her and their heads lean together away from the light. It's getting hotter. They can't tell if the shield is broken, or if they're all dead and this is the white light before you reach the other side. They can't see anything.

Vanessa's thrown back by the force of the collison and lands with a painful thud on the ground. She hears a crack and wonders what she's broken this time. She still can't see anything, can't hear anything either. All she feels is a warmth, a heat all around her. She doesn't know what to make of it. She tries calling out to Lydia but her voice won't work, her fingers aren't working either, neither are her legs.

This is not good.

* * *

John's covered by one of his deputies when the cloud hits. They crash to the ground and it reverberates throughout his body. Then all he feels is a heat, not like a burning, but more like the warmth you'd feel from a fireplace on a cold night. It doesn't feel like he's dying, it feels...it feels...comforting, familiar almost. He tries to look up or around but there's this white light flooding everywhere and shapes and forms are blotted out until nothing is visible anymore. He almost thinks he's gone blind but his vision's bombarded by blue and purple floating lights so no he's not blind.

Good. Very good.

But he can't hear anything or anyone and that is bad. So he tries moving. His deputy strangely enough is no longer on top of him, but he doesn't seem to know where he is. He can't feel anything around him. That is bad because they were crouched behind one of the cruisers only moments before. What if the dust dissolved the car and killed his deputy? But then why is he still alive?

The Stilinski blinks once, twice, tries to make his sight work. The blue and purple lights are still there, still floating. What the-

There's a buzzing in the air, a low hum like the thrumming of electricity. Static pricks at his skin and his hairs stand on end from the touch. John rubs his eyes and blinks again. He can make out the shape of the underside of someone's shoe a few inches away from his where his hands are splayed. He semi-shuffles on his stomach and manages to rotate himself a little. His line of sight falls on a pair of scuffed sneakers. That can't be right.

Fuck it feels like he's paralyzed. If this is what being old feels like he's in no hurry to get there any time soon. But his limbs are cooperating more than they were just now so there's that. He pushes and pushes until he's sort of upright against the headlights of the same cruiser. The light's dimmed just barely but he can make out the outline of someone standing up ahead. The sneakers are attached to them.

The low sound of voices starts filtering through the white haze. People are coming too around him though he can't distinguish any of them.

* * *

Lydia feels the warmth around them. She can't see shit and she can't feel Ms. Morell. She can smell Allison's shampoo so she knows she's still with her but where is Vanessa?

"Jack-jackson..." she slurs, lips sluggish, "Ja-sn..."

Something's settled over them like a mist, or a fog, since she can't make heads or tails of anything around here. She doesn't even know if they're still at the school or if they've been transported to another dimension. Then warmth surges around her, a strange comforting heat that reminds her of nights drinking hot chocolate with her mother, curled up under blankets before the fireplace. She blinks rapidly, one does not do well to remain disoriented for so long.

"Lydia?" someone calls, it sounds like Allison.

Someone else is speaking too, behind her but she can't make out the sound. This is so infuriating! All she wants is to know whether she's dead or not. Or at least to be able to see. That would be pretty fucking useful right now. And as if on cue the white begins fading. There's a buzzing in the air, it pricks at her skin. Then she's seeing blue and purple dots floating in her vision.

* * *

Scott's the first to snap to, eyes taking in everything he can. Issac is plastered against his side, eyelids flicking rapidly as he's coming into consciousness. The rest of the pack is stirring slowly. He can smell Allison and Lydia just in front of them and his shoulders sag with relief. Issac's low moan snags his attention.

Hazy blue eyes gaze groggily at him and he reaches out a hand to brush the back of it against Issac's cheek. Issac's fingers curl into the fabric of his t-shirt in reassurance. Then he sniffs and a curious look crosses his face. Scott's expression mirrors his own and he sniffs the air.

* * *

Vanessa can't move. Well only just barely. She's weak and bleeding somewhere, if the wet stickiness she’s feeling is any indicator. The hum in the air floats over her skin, caressing lightly, reminding her of similar touches not too long ago. Then it's gone and a soothing warmth folds over her.

She senses it before she hears the pack's collective gasps and turns her head in his direction.

_Stiles._


End file.
